


Charter Magic and the Art of Bell Maintenance

by QueenSabriel



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: F/M, Vignettes, ace!Lirael, post-Abhorsen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1334560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenSabriel/pseuds/QueenSabriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes and stories from Lirael's time as Abhorsen-in-Waiting. Sisterly bonding, family quarrels, dinner parties, young love, old love, how to cope with your Very Royal Family and enough of the Dead to last a lifetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue

 

Deep within a nightmare, Lirael felt someone stroking her forehead. A gentle, soft touch, cool fingers on her fevered skin. Following their departure from Forwin Mill Lirael had wanted nothing more than deep, peaceful, empty sleep. It came eventually, but her dreams were not so kind. Again and again the pillar of fire rose before her, again and again she saw their plan fail, saw Orannis slaughter her friends and family before her, laughing all the while. Fever dreams, she knew, though in the midst of them they were painfully real.

But there was that touch on her brow, so familiar, and she wanted to smile but she knew that too soon it would fade away as it always did. She also knew she had to wake up, or the visions of the Destroyer would never end.

Sunlight streamed into the long, white room where Lirael lay in bed. Odd sounds reached her ears from the open door, and there was a strange thin tube running from the crook of her elbow to a glass jar hanging on a stand by her bedside. And the touch on her brow did not vanish, someone really was brushing their fingers lightly over her forehead.

Lirael turned her head and her eyes widened a little. “Abhorsen,” she whispered, her voice sounding raw and feeble.

“Lirael,” Sabriel said, smiling lightly. She looked exhausted, her bloodshot eyes had dark circles beneath them, and Lirael wondered guiltily if she had been sitting with her all night.

“Where…” Lirael began, trying to sit up, but the Abhorsen’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“Ancelstierre,” Sabriel said. “At the hospital in Bain. Touchstone is still sorting things out so we can go home, I want to take you back to the house so we can see to you properly.”

Nodding, Lirael closed her eyes for a brief moment, enjoying the feeling of Sabriel’s fingers running through her hair. Odd to think that this was the Abhorsen Queen, the most powerful woman in the Old Kingdom, a woman who so many people feared, and loved, and respected…Lirael could feel herself drifting off again and she forced her eyes open, looking down at her right arm, which now ended at the wrist, wrapped in clean white linen bandages.

“Sam’s already been talking about making you a new hand,” Sabriel said, seeing where Lirael was looking.

“Is he alright?” Lirael asked, trying to remember. Everything that followed Orannis’ fall was a blur, she could recall lying on a stretcher and talking to Nick, laughing even when he said something, but she didn’t know when that had happened. “And…and the princess? The king? Sanar, Ryelle, Nicholas…?”

“They’re all fine,” Sabriel assured her. “A little shaken and some bruises and cuts, but everyone is alright now.”

“Good,” Lirael was surprised by the sudden choked waver in her voice. “I want to go home,” she added. “Only…only I am not sure where that is anymore.”

Sabriel made a soft noise and leaned over to kiss Lirael’s forehead, her lips leaving a faint glow of warmth as they brushed over Lirael’s Charter mark. “Home is with your family, sweetheart. Abhorsen’s House, Belisaere, the Glacier…it is wherever you choose…Though I would like it very much if you stayed with us.”

A thousand conflicting emotions rose within Lirael, and she was grateful when Sabriel took her hand, twining their fingers together. Lirael noted with interest that her skin was actually a shade or two darker than the Abhorsen’s.

Before she could comment on that, however, there came the sound of footsteps then a deep, pleasant voice said, “For Charter’s sake, Sabriel, you said you were going to get some sleep!”

“I was looking after Lirael,” Sabriel said, glancing up at her husband as he circled around to stand by the end of Lirael’s bed, arms folded over his chest.

“Lirael,” Touchstone said, though he kept his gaze fixed on the Abhorsen, “Something you should know about your sister is that she has an incredibly cavalier disregard for her own wellbeing, so I expect you to tell her off if she does that while you’re out doing…Abhorsen things together.” The king looked at Lirael, then winked. “And how are _you_ feeling?”

“A little better,” she rasped, then added, “Your highness.”

“No no no, none of that,” Touchstone clicked his tongue and sat on the edge of the bed, patting her leg with one hand. “You’re my sister too, you know, so I’ll have no formalities. It’s just ‘Touchstone,’ understood?”

Lirael tried to respond, but a wave of drowsiness left her only able to nod, and to smile weakly. Even as her eyes closed and she sank back into the pillow, she kept a hold of her sister’s hand, reassured that Sabriel would be there when she woke.

***

_Up next: Returning to the Glacier_


	2. Ice, Ash, and Moonstone

 

Lirael had never thought about what the Clayr’s Glacier might look like from above. After living there for nineteen years it was hard to imagine that a view of her home might exist with which she was unfamiliar, and yet the sight of the ice shining far below her, the mighty Ratterlin reduced to a streak of silver in the afternoon sun, the sprawling green at the feet of the mountains…it was breathtaking to say the least. As Sabriel banked the paperwing into a lazy spiraling descent, Lirael leaned over so far she was in danger of tipping over the side of the craft.

A sudden change in direction tossed Lirael back in her seat, and she had the sinking suspicion that was intentional. She had been flying with the Abhorsen back and forth across the kingdom for the past month now, and had come to the conclusion that Sabriel could be a bit of a show off with her piloting – which would certainly explain the amused warning Touchstone had given her before they left Belisaere the first time.

A moment later the paperwing dipped gracefully towards the landing plateau, touched down and skidded a little, sending up a spray of powdery snow. Sabriel’s clear whistle ended and she was springing out of the pilot’s seat almost before the paperwing had come to a complete stop. Stretching, Sabriel removed her goggles before turning and holding her hands out to Lirael. “I suppose I don’t need to warn you about the ice,” she said.

Lirael smiled and gratefully accepted the assistance. It took her a moment to ensure her newly crafted right hand was actually gripping Sabriel’s as firmly as she intended. Sam may have done an incredibly skilled job making it, but after three weeks Lirael was still adjusting. Letting her sister take most of her weight, she sprang a little less gracefully from the paperwing.

Watching Sabriel lean over to take bandolier and sword belt from under the pilot’s seat, Lirael was struck with a sudden sense of déjà vu , though she wasn’t sure why. She gave herself a little shake and took out her own equipment, draping both belt and bandolier over one shoulder for now. They had been flying for several hours that day, so Lirael was grateful for a moment to stretch her legs. In a fit of daring and curiosity, she walked right over to the edge of the plateau and glanced down the dizzying fall.

It was as she gazed down the drop that the memory started to trickle back. She had been up here on her birthday, fourteenth birthday, in a fit of despair and sadness. It was here she had run into Sanar and Ryelle and gotten assigned to the library – except…except… Lirael squinted, filled with the certainty that something else had happened, something that now lingered just beyond the reach of her recollection.

“Lirael?” Sabriel called.

Lirael glanced up. As she saw the Abhorsen standing there beside the paperwing dressed in her black and silver martin fur coat, something clicked in the back of Lirael’s mind.

“I saw you here before,” Lirael said, jogging back over to Sabriel. “You and the king. You came here briefly five years ago to talk to Sanar and Ryelle about the Red Lake, only you didn’t stay long, you just landed and talked for a few minutes then left again.”

Sabriel gave her a blank, puzzled look. Then she nodded slowly. “Oh…I do recall that. But how did you…were you with the Clayr who came to meet us?”

“No.” Lirael looked down at her feet. She wondered, for one ridiculous second, if Sabriel would be angry with her for overhearing their conversation. “No I was hiding in the snow banks over there. I actually got found out because you saw the sun shining off my goggles as you were leaving and told Sanar and Ryelle to investigate it.”

Now Sabriel’s dark eyebrows rose in an amused expression and she let out a little laugh. “What in the world were you doing that for?” The humor faded from her face when she saw the way Lirael’s brow furrowed. “Lirael?”

“It was my birthday,” Lirael said lamely, acutely aware of the self-pitying tone in her voice. “I turned fourteen and I still didn’t have the Sight. I was so miserable, so I’d come up here to…to…” She took a deep breath. “I was going to kill myself.” The last part came out in a rush. Sanar and Ryelle had guessed her motive, the Dog had been fully aware of what she had tried to do, but Lirael realized she hadn’t ever spoken those words aloud to anyone before.

As usual, Sabriel’s expression was unreadable, but at least there was no pity or judgment in her dark eyes. After a moment she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Lirael, resting her cheek against the top of her head. They remained that way for several seconds before Sabriel said quietly, “I’m very glad you didn’t.”

“I am as well,” Lirael said. The feelings of complete hopelessness and helplessness that she had felt seemed so far in her past now. As Lirael buried her nose in the soft fur of Sabriel’s collar, she found herself smiling. Sam might complain loudly about his mother’s abrupt and often unexpected displays of affection, but Lirael loved them. They reminded her that she actually had found her place, that Sabriel was not only queen and Abhorsen but also her sister.  Aside from that, Lirael couldn’t imagine feeling anything but completely safe when wrapped in the Abhorsen’s arms.

The sound of the huge hangar doors opening caused both women to step apart and turn. Sanar and Ryelle stood there, both smiling and both looking, as usual, utterly radiant: golden hair shining, dark brown skin glowing in the bright sunshine. “Welcome!” they chorused cheerfully.

“Hello cousins!” Sabriel said, waving. The last they’d seen the twins was just after Orannis’ defeat, when they all said goodbye before the Royal family continued on with Lirael to Abhorsen’s House, and Sanar and Ryelle returned north to the Glacier.

Lirael was only able to smile and wave shyly. Now that she was back here, she could feel anxiety building within her. Months ago she had left the Glacier as a second assistant librarian with an uncertain future, now she returned as Abhorsen-in-Waiting and sister to the queen, feeling even less like a Clayr than she had before. Who knew how she would be received?

After the initial greetings and cheek kisses had been exchanged, Sabriel turned and whistled again, a soft trill like one might use to call a dog. The paperwing’s eyes flashed to life and it glided after them into the hangar, skimming barely a centimeter off the floor and into one of the empty stalls. Now that they were all inside, the large hangar doors began closing again.

Sabriel managed somehow to remove her coat and sling her bandolier and sword belt on with minimal awkward juggling. Lirael tried the same with less success, dropping gloves and sword belt at least once each. The twins were looking at her with a mixture of fondness and respect, and Lirael instinctively tried to duck behind her hair, until she realized it was still tied back. Sabriel had already untied her own hair and was running her fingers through it.

“Far too much time in the air,” she said as they started walking to the door that led out of the hangar.

“The journey went well though, I trust?” Ryelle asked.

Sabriel nodded. “It did. We had finished up dealing with a few rogue Dead hands in Yanyl yesterday, so it was a bit of a flight but the weather was perfect.”

The three older women talked idly as they descended the winding stairs. Lirael only half listened, becoming distracted for a while watching her hand, the golden one, as she trailed her fingers along the wall. It was incredibly detailed, down to the nails and fingerprints, and on close examination shone with a sheen of faint Charter marks. Unlike the hands of Sendings, this one _felt_ like an actual hand as well, warm and solid and full of life.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and turned, much to Lirael’s dismay, into one of the larger main corridors. Various Clayr paused as they passed, respectfully bowing their heads, and Lirael tried to tell herself it was because of Sabriel, though she caught more than a few eyes lingering on her.

She was just wondering how bad it would be if she simply hid behind the Abhorsen when a familiar voice boomed out, “That’s not Lirael, is it?!”

“Aunt Kirrith,” Lirael said, unconsciously straightening her posture. She did smile though, despite everything it was reassuring to see a familiar face.

Kirrith set down the basket she had been holding to bow to Sabriel. “Your highness. I trust my niece hasn’t been causing too much trouble?”

“Quite the contrary, my life has been considerably easier having her along,” Sabriel said, shooting a smile at Lirael.  “You must be Kirrith.”

“Yes, Abhorsen,” Kirrith said. “I must say it was a bit of a shock to find out that your father was the one my little sister went chasing after…”

“Aunt!” Lirael gasped, looking horrified.

Sabriel laughed softly. “It was a surprise to everyone, but a good one.”

“And look at you,” Kirrith said, tone changing as she put her hands on Lirael’s shoulders. “All proper Abhorsen-in-Waiting. Who would have imagined…? Your mother would have been so proud of you.” She gave Lirael a long, almost sad look and kissed her forehead. “I’m so proud of you. We all are.”

Feeling a sudden lump in the back of her throat, Lirael kissed her aunt on the cheek, hugging her again. “Thank you,” she whispered.

They spoke with Kirrith for only a minute or two longer before moving on. After having a little while to wash up and get settled in their guest suite, Sabriel had to talk to Sanar and Ryelle about some ‘dreadfully boring political matters’ and suggested that Lirael could take the time to visit her old home properly. Lirael could not bring herself to point out that she would much rather sit with them through whatever it was they had to discuss, than wander the halls of the glacier and reopen old hurts she just knew she would encounter.

For a few long minutes after Sabriel left, Lirael sat on the end of her bed in the guest quarters. These rooms were so much nicer than any of her rooms at the glacier had been when she lived there, with their plush furnishings and windows that looked out on the sloping mountain sides. But Lirael had no real desire to stay here all afternoon, she hadn’t exactly brought anything to do. She supposed she could get a cup of tea and perhaps a small snack in the refectory, but then again she realized with a frown that it would be entirely improper for the Abhorsen-in-waiting to sit off in a corner of the lower refectory by herself, and she certainly didn’t want to go to the upper one.

It was then Lirael remembered Sam’s interest in Charter skins. She could go to the library and get _In the Skin of a Lyon_ to copy out a few choice passages for her nephew. Considering that she was still getting used to writing with her left hand (she had decided it would be easier to build up the dexterity in those fingers than the golden charter spelled ones), it would take her a few hours at least to copy out all the initial notes Sam would need.

She stood up from her bed and went over to her pack. After a bit of rummaging, Lirael drew out the small soapstone statuette of the Dog. She gazed at it. “How about one last trip to the library with me, Dog?” she murmured, before slipping the statuette into the pocket of her surcoat and heading out into the hall.

***

Lirael was surprised at how nice it was to see her old co-workers again. She discovered that they hadn’t been told what happened to her right away, that she had simply vanished. Some had assumed she had been killed in the lower levels of the library, as happened sometimes. Others had guessed that she ran off in much the same way her mother did. But they were all overjoyed to see her again, and she spent a little while talking to them, or rather listening to them fawn over her before she managed to slip off to the reading room, saying there was some research she needed to do.

“When I was finally allowed to tell everyone that you had gone off on official business, and had become the Abhorsen-in-Waiting the news spread like wildfire,” Vancelle said as she personally brought _In the Skin of a Lyon_ over to Lirael’s desk in the reading room. “You’ve become quite the legend around here already.”

Swallowing, Lirael managed only a small smile. She did not feel like the stuff of legend. She just felt – well, the way she always did. A little happier, a little more certain of her place, but she was still just Lirael, nineteen years old (though soon to be twenty, she remembered), quiet, shy…She took the book from Vancelle. “Thank you.”

“It’s odd, that book,” the chief librarian said, frowning. “I knew we had a copy somewhere, but it had vanished from the restricted collection for so long, and then one of the Sendings turned up with it well...shortly after you left.” She shot Lirael a slightly suspicious look. “You found it, didn’t you?”

“I…I did,” Lirael said. She hugged the book to her chest for a moment, then all in a rush she said, “I’m sorry, I unlocked most of the stones in my key bracelet, I know I wasn’t supposed to but I was so curious so I just _had_ to explore and –“

“Lirael, _Lirael_ ,” Vancelle said, holding up her hands to cut her off. To Lirael’s suprrise, the chief librarian was smiling. “I _know_ you did. I was fully aware.”

“You were?” Lirael blinked at her dumbly.

Vancelle nodded. “I was younger than you are now when I first started working here, so trust me when I say it has been a very long time indeed. Not to mention you were the youngest librarian I’d ever taken on, of course I kept a close eye on you. I did not know the details of what you got up to, but I was aware of your explorations and your remarkable abilities as a Charter mage. I must admit I’m rather disappointed that the Abhorsen has stolen you away from us.” She winked and patted Lirael’s shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Alright,” Lirael said, falling quiet again. She stared down at the desk, at the book and paper and pen before her.

She felt rather unexpectedly annoyed. It was wonderful of course to hear from Clayr like Kirrith and Vancelle that they were proud of her and always had been, but she couldn’t help but feel that this was all coming a little too late. Why couldn’t they have said those things when she needed to hear them? When she needed the most to know that she was loved and belonged? Was that really just the Clayr’s way of doing things? She flipped the book open rather vehemently, then sighed. Of course it was the Clayr’s way, and she knew that. Lirael closed her eyes for a moment and rubbed her hand over her face. Besides, it was all in the past now.

Lirael wasn’t sure how long she had been absorbed in copying passages from _In the Skin of a Lyon_ , hours at least. Completely lost in her transcription, she looked up only when a sudden commotion at the door had everyone looking up from their work. It took Lirael a moment to realize what it was, and when she did she instinctively got to her feet. A silver emergency mouse had just skidded into the reading room, whistling frantically.

A moment later a red-waistcoated second assistant librarian came running in, her own mouse clutched in her hand, blood running down the side of her face and an utterly horrified expression in her blue eyes. For a second she scanned the faces of her coworkers, then she spotted Lirael. “Abhorsen!” she gasped. “Please…please help…”

Ignoring the wild pounding of her heart, Lirael strode forward. She tried hard to copy Sabriel’s way of sounding calm and strong and reassuring all at once. “What is it?”

“I d-don’t know!” the young woman sobbed, actually clutching at Lirael’s sleeve in terror. “Something dead, and there was Free Magic and and…oh _Charter_ , Lyselle is…I think she’s…” And she broke down entirely, shoulders shaking with distraught sobs.

Two other librarians stepped forward to console their friend. Lirael’s eyes were drawn to the glowing path of Charter marks left by the emergency mouse, leading back to wherever Lyselle and whatever they had awoken were. When Lirael looked back at the gathered Clayr, she found them all looking at her, clearly awaiting orders.

“Which of you is the strongest Charter mage?” Lirael asked. The Clayr looked between themselves for a moment, before one white-waistcoated Deputy librarian who identified herself as Yaneile stepped forward. “Please come with me. The rest of you…” Lirael hesitated a moment. “If we send a second emergency mouse, do _not_ follow. Find the Abhorsen immediately, she’s with Sanar and Ryelle.”

With that she turned and started down the hall, Yaneile close on her heels. Behind them in the reading room an immediate murmur of voices started up. The path the mouse had left wound down a back corridor of the Library, heading deeper and deeper until Lirael wasn’t sure where they were in relation to the main spiral. As they went, Lirael’s sense of death began to grow, and she swallowed thickly, wondering if she shouldn’t have just sent for Sabriel immediately.

At the top of a small flight of stairs, Lirael glanced at Yaneile uncertainly. The librarian – who couldn’t be more than five years older than Lirael herself – gave her a confident little nod. Lirael squared her shoulders and plunged onwards down the stairs.

The path of Charter marks came to an abrupt end at the entrance to a vaulting cavern. The stone archway had a pair of heavy iron doors, which currently stood open, the red cord that had sealed them off draped carefully to the side. There was death inside that room, Lirael could tell, enough to send a shiver down her spine.

“This is why they really should leave cataloguing to the deputies,” Yaneile muttered under her breath, hand resting on the pommel of the sword she wore. “Do you see anything, Abhorsen?”

“It’s still just Lirael,” she said absently, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Sabriel is the Abhorsen. I don’t see anything though.”

The inside of the cavern before them appeared to be filled with a thick grey fog, but something about it did not seem quite right. Hesitantly, Lirael held out her left hand and leaned forward without actually stepping through the doorway.

“It’s…it’s _ash_ ,” she said in surprise as a few fragile grey flakes landed on her fingertips. The ash swirled in the air, moving but not falling, like the entire room was an enormous snowglobe that someone had shaken up.

A Charter spell for light flared into brilliance from Yaneile’s fingertips and soared up to hover above their heads. Reassured by this, Lirael drew her sword and started forward, the Clayr at her side.

They found Lyselle at the center of the cavern. She sat slumped against a waist high, perhaps two foot square flower bed made from the same paving stones as the floor. A single plant grew in the middle, tall with long, red, drooping flowers. Something else sat nestled in the dirt, a statuette constructed of the same soapstone that the Disreputable Dog’s statue was made of. This one however was a mourning dove, sitting with its head tucked under one wing.

Lirael frowned at the odd tableau for a moment before she knelt and peered at Lyselle. “She’s alive!” she said, then noticed the ice that rimed the Clayr’s body. “She’s…she’s in Death though…I think I need to – Yaneile?” She looked up and saw Yaneile paralyzed with fear, staring at something on the other side of the planter.

Standing up, Lirael did not notice the trickle of water now running between the paving stones at her feet. Her eyes were fixed on the figure that stood across from them, a tall woman wearing a white surcoat, her long black hair hanging so that it completely obscured her face. There was something entirely wrong about her as well, her arms were a little too long, her fingers a little too bony. She had another figure clutched to her, a pale shadow of the unconscious Lyselle.

“I am Lirael, Abhorsen-in-Waiting, Daughter of the Clayr, Remembrancer,” Lirael said with as much confidence as she could muster. “I do not know who you are, but I command you to return Lyselle to her body!”

The woman tilted her head and raised one hand. She moved with a horrible, twitching, shaking, shivering movement, and her hair parted enough to reveal lips turned the deep blue black of death. She let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. With that sound came a rolling acrid stench of Free Magic, but there was something else there, something that made Lirael hesitate, something distinct and familiar.

Rosemary. And the plant growing in the bed was Amaranth. Realization hit Lirael, but she wasn’t sure if it comforted her, or made the whole situation far worse.

“Yaneile, go, _run_ ,” Lirael said without turning around. “Go get the Abhorsen _now_!”

She heard Yaneile’s footsteps hurrying away. In front of her, Astarael – or whatever fragment of Astarael this was – continued to hold Lyselle’s spirit. For several minutes Lirael stood there wondering what she possibly could do. This did not seem to be as strong a fragment of the Weeper as resided beneath Abhorsen’s House, but Lirael did not want to test that guess.

Finally she took a step around the flower bed. When Astarael remained still, Lirael took another step towards her, then another. Finally she extended her shining, golden hand, reaching for Lyselle’s limp, pallid one. To her complete surprise, Astarael did not resist. As Lirael pulled on Lyselle’s spirit form, Astarael simply let her go. The minute the shadowy figure left the arms of the Weeper, it vanished, and on the ground Lyselle suddenly gasped for air, scrambling to her feet, ice falling from her.

Lirael was about to tell Lyselle to run when the Astarael fragment finally moved. It was a simple enough movement, her shoulders drooped and her head lolled back, hair still obscuring most of her face. What she did next was the real problem; she seemed to take in a breath, then she opened her mouth and _wailed_ ,  a human voice echoing the peel of her namesake bell, and though Lirael futilely clamped her hands over her ears, the sound seem to be echoing inside her head and chest and all through her.

She did not crash into the river of Death so much as it crashed into her. Water rushed in from everywhere, filling the cavern and throwing Lirael backwards. The edge of the stone planter hit her sharply in the lower back, and it took all her effort not to gasp and inhale the icy, ashy water now roiling around her. Lirael thrashed, trying to push to the surface but there was no surface, just more crashing and coursing water. Her already oxygen-starved mind wondered if Astarael had thrown her all the way to the third precinct, where waves would toss an unsuspecting traveler under.

Forcing her lips to remain closed, Lirael felt for her bells, though she had no idea which one to use. The water was pulling her back now as it retreated like a sudden tide, and she scrambled to grab anything, one hand closing on the solid edge of the stone planter, the other closing around something much smaller and less stable.

Lirael’s lungs were on fire, her body starting to panic now. She stood up and let go of the planter, reaching high above her head but still she only felt water. Finally she could not hold her breath any longer and her mouth opened out of pure instinct, gasping in a lungful of bitter, cold water. For a moment she choked, then everything went dark.

***

Someone was pushing rhythmically and heavily on her chest, hard enough that Lirael awoke to an explosion of pain through her ribs. She tried to breath, gagged, then rolled over and vomited up far too much brackish water, until her throat was raw and she could feel tears rolling down her face. A moment later Sabriel was pulling her close, brushing her hair back and wiping the tears from her cheeks with a frantic sort of concern.

“Lirael, can you hear me?”

Lirael nodded, grasping at Sabriel’s arm. “Astarael,” she croaked out.

Sabriel frowned. “What?”

“It…” Lirael struggled to sit up on her own, taking a moment to spit the last of the water from her mouth and catch her breath. “They have fragments, of the seven, somehow…the Disreputable Dog was Kibeth, found her statue here…then I found this one.” She was still clutching the little soapstone mourning dove, and now held it up for Sabriel to see.

Beyond Sabriel stood Vancelle, Sanar, Ryelle, and a number of other librarians and Clayr. They were all watching with varying degrees of worry and fear. They all took a step back when Lirael abruptly scrambled to her feet, nearly falling, and only remaining upright by grabbing Sabriel’s arm as she too stood.

“I know…I know where this belongs,” she said, glancing at Vancelle, who was looking too slack jawed to argue. “But I’ll need your key, if you don’t mind.”

Only Sabriel and Vancelle followed Lirael when she started up the stairs. Lirael was dimly aware of her sister trying to persuade her to wait just a little while, to give herself a chance to recover, but she ignored her. Perhaps it was an after effect of nearly drowning, or being so close to Astarael’s spirit, but Lirael’s mind felt all foggy, the only clear thought being that she had to return the two statues.

Then, without even really being aware of finding her way there, they stood before the door with the sun emblazoned on it. Lirael looked back at the two women behind her. Vancelle looked to Sabriel, confusion evident on her face.

“Please,” Sabriel said, gesturing. “If this is where she says we need to be…”

Some part of Lirael’s mind knew that any other time she would have been mortified with herself for ordering the Chief around like that. But now her only thought was of the statues. She waited for Vancelle to open the door then started off across the field of poppies where, so long ago it seemed, she had fought and bound the stilkin. Sabriel and Vancelle hesitated only a moment before plunging after her.

They reached the far end some ten minutes later, and Vancelle once again used her bracelet, this time to open the moon gate. The gate opened a little further than Lirael remembered, but even so the chief librarian snorted and shook her head. “There is no way I can fit through that.”

Lirael didn’t need to convince her otherwise. She did have to remove her bandolier to fit through, and was just putting it back on inside the narrow corridor on the other side when she saw Sabriel doing the same. The Abhorsen had to flatten herself rather awkwardly to slide through, and the bottom point of the moon caught a loose thread of her surcoat, but she made it, and after putting her bandolier back on, gave Lirael an encouraging nod.

Down the hall they went, and into the small room at the other end. Lirael cast a spell of light, then glanced at Sabriel. “Careful,” she said. “There’s a hole in the floor, a stilken used to be imprisoned here.” She had told Sabriel about her encounter, of course, and saw understanding and interest pique in Sabriel’s face.

Lirael’s focus was on the strange altar with its seven little bone plinths. It all made sense now, and she stepped up to the altar, carefully placing the Dog back on the third plinth from the left, right where she had found her the first time. “There you go, Kibeth,” she murmured sadly. “I am very glad we got to be friends, but I think you belong here now.” Then she took the mourning dove out of her pocket, and moved to place it reverentially on the farthest plinth to the right. “And Astarael.”

She glanced back to make sure she wasn’t about to fall into the vacant chamber below the floor, then stepped backwards to stand next to Sabriel, who gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“I wonder what’s happened to the other five,” Sabriel murmured.

Lirael shook her head. Her mind was clearing now, leaving her feeling drained and exhausted. She stifled a yawn. “They may be in the library still, or…Charter only knows.” After a moment of staring at the two statues she asked, “Do you know anything about them? The seven, I mean.”

But Sabriel shook her head. “There is a great deal I still do not know about the Charter, the bells, our family. It is something we could try asking Mogg – I mean, Yrael when we are at the House next.”

“Mmm, yes,” Lirael agreed, then gave herself a little shake. “Oh...we should get back…”

“Yes,” Sabriel said, sounding only too eager to comply.

***

 Lirael slept soundly through the night. When she awoke the following morning her chest still hurt, ribs bruised from Sabriel reviving her, but a quick Charter spell was able to turn that into nothing more than a dull ache. Breakfast was a rather cheerful affair in the upper refectory, and when, after the food was cleared away, a hush fell over the long tables, Lirael looked up in curiosity like all the others.

Lyselle, looking considerably better than she had the previous day, walked up to the table where Lirael sat with the Abhorsen, Sanar, Ryelle, and Kirrith. Using both hands, Lyselle held a square box of polished rowan wood, the lid inlayed with the golden star of the Clayr. Lirael frowned in confusion, because there was only one thing she had ever seen boxes like that used for.

Lyselle cleared her throat. “I would not call this simply a gift, for it is something you have truly earned, Lirael, daughter of the Clayr and Abhorsen-in-Waiting. It is from all of us, though I asked to be the one to bear it to you…You risked your own life without hesitation to pull me from the very waters of Death, and I will never be able to thank you enough for that…”

Even before Lyselle’s slender brown fingers undid the latch and opened the lid of the box, Lirael knew what would be inside. She knew such boxes were used to store the silver and moonstone circlets that all full Clayr wore, the ones presented to them at their Awakening.

 “But I’m not…I don’t have the Sight-!” Lirael heard herself protesting, her voice barely more than a stage-whisper. “You can’t…I don’t have the Sight…”

“But you do!” Sanar said from where she sat beside Lirael. “You simply See the past, rather than the future, but it is no less important.”

Lirael swallowed, still unsure. “But I use spells for my Remembrancing, it doesn’t just…”

“Remembrancing isn’t like Charter Magic or Necromancy,” Sabriel said, lightly touching Lirael’s arm. “It is like being an Abhorsen, or a Clayr. It is something inherently unique and special about _you_.” She let out an affectionate laugh. “Do not sell yourself short, my dear sister. You are something very incredible indeed.”

Again Lirael felt dizzy, but this time she didn’t think it had to do with what had happened the previous evening. She was also grateful that this small presentation was the extent of ceremony around giving her the coveted circlet that she had wanted for so long, she wasn’t sure she could handle a full Awakening.

A few hours later she and Sabriel were once again loading their things into the paperwing, accompanied by a group of the Clayr.

“You’ll be returning to Belisaere then?” Sanar asked.

Sabriel nodded and let out a sigh, though she was smiling. “Yes. And all things permitting, I may actually get to spend some time with my husband and children. It has been weeks since I saw Touchstone and I…” Her voice trailed off and she looked down, as though suddenly remembering something she would rather have forgotten.

It was Ryelle who stepped forward, and then to Lirael’s surprise she took the Abhorsen’s face in her slender hands and made Sabriel look her in the eye. “Forgive me for telling you of _that_ vision, I should not have,” she said softly. “Sometimes when prophecy strikes, I do not think of its repercussions. But you, Abhorsen, of all people should know not to dwell in sorrow on the distant inevitability of death.”

“I know,” Sabriel said, holding Ryelle’s gaze. “But it…it is difficult, to hear that you will outlive your husband. Even when…I should say, we guessed it would be as such, when he first gave his blood to repair the Charter stones.”

“You still have many, many, many years together,” Sanar said, as Ryelle lowered her hands. “We have also Seen that you and the king will live to see your children married, will know your grandchildren, will see your sister – “ But she stopped abruptly and smiled.

Lirael blinked, peering at them curiously. “What? What about me?”

“Ah,” the twins said together. “No, some things are best left to their natural path, as wonderful surprises.”

Then each of them stepped forward to embrace first Sabriel then Lirael, and bid their farewells, and remind them to return whenever they wished. The great hangar doors opened as they did that, and Sabriel whistled their paperwing out onto the blustery plateau.

Before climbing into the pilot’s seat, she turned to Lirael. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Lirael said, managing a smile. “Yes. Let’s go home.”

***

_Up next: Ancelstierre, a dinner party, and more politicians than you can shake a bell at._


	3. Stranger in a Strange Land

Part 2: Stranger in a Strange Land

Lirael had only been to Ancelstierre twice before, and each time she had been too preoccupied to notice much about the strange southern country. First had been when she fought the Destroyer, and the second time had been only a couple months ago when she had gone to help Nicholas with the rogue Free Magic creature. Now, on her third trip across the wall, she sat in the back seat of an armored car beside Sabriel, speeding south through endless farmlands, headed for the capitol city of Corvere. They were meeting Touchstone there to attend a dinner party at the home of the new Hereditary Arbiter, though if what Sabriel had said was true, Touchstone hadn’t been very keen on attending, not after what had happened the last time.

Honestly Lirael couldn’t blame him. She herself felt a mixture of excitement and anxiety at the prospect of not only visiting Ancelstierre, but being put in a busy social situation. But Sabriel had thought it would be a good idea for her to be at least somewhat familiar with their neighbor to the south, and Lirael couldn’t deny that she _was_ curious about it…

The drive from the wall to Corvere took several hours and the further they went, the more uncomfortable Lirael felt. Part of this was simply from being cooped up in the back of the car so long, and the other part was due to the feeling of the Charter slipping further and further away from her. Less than thirty minutes on the road and her golden hand had stopped working, looking not unlike a doll’s hand as it froze in place. An hour south of the wall Lirael tried reaching for a few marks, but found she struggled to hold even the simplest ones in her mind. And finally the comforting presence simply vanished, reminding Lirael all too much of the encounter with Astarael beneath the Abhorsen’s house.

Luckily for her, the outskirts of the capitol began to rise up around them soon after, providing ample distraction. Lirael pressed her face to the window as they sped past sprawling brick buildings that poured smoke into the otherwise clear sky, and depressing looking grey row houses that soon gave way to fancier and fancier buildings. Then they were in the city proper, a sight to make Lirael’s eyes widen. Corvere was huge, it might not take up much more area than Belisaere did, but there was so much happening that it seemed considerably larger.

“Well?” Sabriel said, smiling when she saw Lirael’s obvious wonder. “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure what to think,” Lirael replied, still trying to take in everything at once. “Even hearing Elli and Sam’s stories, I couldn’t imagine…”

“Corvere is an incredible city,” Sabriel glanced out of her own window with considerably less interest. “I just wish I had fonder memories of it.”

Lirael shifted and smoothed her hand absently over her skirt. She and Sabriel had changed into Ancelstierran clothing in Bain; lovely ankle length dresses with broad decorative belts and funny little matching jackets. Lirael’s was black with white polkadots, and she found herself a bit sad knowing it would fall apart if she tried to bring it back to the Old Kingdom with her.

Before long they turned down a broad tree-lined boulevard, then in through a pair of wrought iron gates, up a winding drive, and finally came to a stop before a grand three story building. Armed guards stood on either side of the front doors, and Lirael could see the familiar banners of the royal family hanging from the upstairs balcony, the heavy material hanging limp in the warm afternoon air.

The car was stopped at the foot of the front steps, and a liveried footman appeared out of nowhere to open the door and help both women out. Lirael let out a little groan as she stepped onto the gravel drive and was finally able to stretch her stiff arms and legs.

A moment later the doors of the embassy opened and Touchstone strode out, followed closely by two more guards, whose faces Lirael recognized. Like herself and Sabriel, the king was dressed in Ancelstierran clothing. Lirael thought he looked quite good, too, in an exquisitely tailored, grey three-piece suit, his usually unruly curls somehow a bit more under control. Judging from the way Sabriel eyed her husband, she clearly felt much the same way.

“You’re early!” Touchstone said as he walked down to them. He gave Lirael’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze and leaned over to kiss her cheek before turning to Sabriel. Touchstone gazed at her for a moment before cupping her face in both hands and capturing her lips in a long, loving kiss.

“So Sulyn followed through on her threat, I see,” Sabriel said as they parted. She scrutinized his hair for a moment and nodded approvingly.

“She did,” Touchstone said heavily, rolling his eyes. “That’s the last time I agree to have lunch with one of your friends, should’ve known you two would plot against me. How do you think it looks?”

“I think…” Sabriel reached up to tuck a curl behind his ear, “you look like the sort of Ancelstierran film star that girls Sam’s age would have posters of in their dormitories.”

Touchstone didn’t seem to believe that and exchanged a skeptical look with Lirael, who grinned and shrugged. Turning back to Sabriel, he shook his head. “I think you’re ignoring how much grey I have in my hair, oh wild northern queen.”

“Wild northern queen who’s missed her king far too greatly,” she said softly, stepping forward to wrap her arms around him.

Touchstone held her close for a moment, then said to Lirael, “Perhaps you and I should switch jobs, I think you see more of my wife than I do.”

“I think that’s true,” Lirael agreed, “But I also think I would make a terrible king.”

“And you would be a terrible Abhorsen-in-Waiting, my love,” Sabriel said. She stepped back and linked an arm through Touchstone’s. “Shall we give Lirael the grand tour?”

“We shall indeed!” Touchstone turned, offering his other arm to Lirael. “And how are you doing?”

“Stiff,” Lirael said, wrinkling her nose as she took the offered arm and walked with them up the stairs.

“Ah, yes,” Touchstone winced sympathetically, waiting for the guards to open the doors for them and let them into the large, bright foyer of the embassy. “Wonderful for the muscles, car rides are…”

The tour of the embassy at least gave Lirael the chance to stretch more. They had finished the first floor when Touchstone got pulled away to take a telephone call, so Sabriel showed Lirael the rest, which was mostly guest rooms and a few private offices.

Lirael’s favorite part by far was the photographs that lined the main staircase. “I wish we had these in the Old Kingdom…”

“Oh, I do too,” Sabriel said. “I think Sam is trying to work on some sort of Charter based camera, but I can’t imagine how he’d do that.”

“Is this you?!” Lirael exclaimed, stopping before a picture of two young women.

Sabriel grinned. “That is. The other woman is Sulyn, I’m sure I’ve mentioned her.”

Lirael nodded, studying the photograph closely. It was a little blurry, but she could tell Sabriel was both much younger, and also very pregnant. “When is this from?”

“Oh, goodness,” Sabriel breathed. “My hair’s so short, that must have been when I was pregnant with Elli, so nearly twenty years ago now. I think I must have been about your age.” When Lirael stared at her she laughed. “I’m not actually _that_ old, you know.”

 “I didn’t mean...” Lirael began, blushing. “I just never thought that you were so young when you had your children.”

“Touchstone and I were lucky,” Sabriel said, brow furrowing a little. “Things calmed down for a little bit just after we were married, enough that I could afford the time to have children. Not many female Abhorsens do, you know. It is incredibly dangerous to go into Death when you’re pregnant, I had to a couple times, but thankfully not enough that it harmed Elli or Sam.”

Lirael tilted her head, frowning thoughtfully at the photograph again. She could barely imagine having a relationship on top of being Abhorsen-in-Waiting, let alone being pregnant.

Sabriel broke through her thoughts by lightly touching her back. “Let’s go see if we can find some tea, it’ll be a few hours yet before the party…”

***

Lirael spent most of the afternoon reading in her sunny guest room, but as the light started to shift towards evening, she put her book aside and went to go find Sabriel. She guessed correctly that her sister and Touchstone would be in the study, but as she approached the partially opened doors, she was surprised to hear slightly raised voices from within. Torn between curiosity, guilt over eavesdropping, and a reluctance to interrupt what might actually be an argument, Lirael paused just outside, taking a quick peek through the gap in the sliding wooden doors.

From her vantage point she could just see Touchstone standing before the fireplace, arms folded over his chest as he frowned down at Sabriel, who was seated in one of the winged-back chairs. “…I understand that,” he was saying. “What I do not understand is why you think our _lives_ are less important!”

Sabriel pursed her lips. “You’re putting words in my mouth. Besides, the only one stupid enough to try and arrange an assassination attempt was Corolini, and he’s long gone. I really don’t think we have anything out of the ordinary to worry about. You’ve actually heard it straight from Dawforth, most of the moot is terrified that we’ll cut off ties…”

“Huh.” Touchstone grunted and turned to rest his arm on the mantelpiece.

“This is important, you _know_ it’s important, and you know I wouldn’t be insisting on going if it wasn’t,” Sabriel said, setting aside the paper she’d been reading and getting to her feet as well. “But if you’re really so opposed why don’t you simply return to Belisaere and I shall convey your regrets. I won’t force you.”

“Except I can’t really do that because you’re _insisting_ and Charter forbid I ignore one of your suggestions let alone something you insist on.”

Sabriel stared at him. “You asked me to handle this sort of thing…honestly what’s gotten into you? I don’t see you for weeks and then you start chewing my head off about a stupid dinner party.”

“Am I ridiculous for not wanting something to happen to you or Lirael?”

“Of course not, I just think…” Sabriel held her hands up, then let them fall to her sides, sighing heavily. For several minutes she and Touchstone were silent as they held each other’s gazes. When Sabriel spoke again, she seemed to be fighting back a smile. “If something does happen, will you throw the offending person across the room for me?”

Touchstone scowled. “That’s not funny, Sabriel.”

She snorted and stepped close to him, kissing his cheek. “This is hardly worth losing your temper over, you silly man.”

“Hrumph,” grunted Touchstone, but he wrapped his arms around Sabriel’s waist, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders. “I think you enjoy testing my patience, woman.”

“It’s because I know I’m the only one who can get away with it,” she replied. Lirael was just about to turn away and head back upstairs when Sabriel spoke again, “You and Lirael can commiserate about not wanting to go tonight.”

“You don’t think Lirael wants to go?”

“I mean, she’s said she does, but I can tell she’s dreadfully anxious about it,” Sabriel said, running her fingers absently along the buttons of Touchstone’s waistcoat. “She’s rather shy, and honestly this is throwing her in at the deep end, isn’t it? Perhaps I should let her know she could just stay here if she’d rather…”

“What and break Nicholas Sayre’s heart?” Touchstone’s words caught Lirael by surprise and she peeked back into the room in time to see Sabriel hit Touchstone on the arm. “What? You know it’s true. Or is the boy not good enough for your sister?”

“Nicholas is fine,” Sabriel said, sniffing. “His family on the other hand…”

They shared a disgruntled look before Sabriel patted Touchstone’s chest, kissed him, and murmured something about needing to go get ready. Lirael quickly turned and padded back upstairs, all too aware of the wide-eyed expression on her face.

***

What Lirael had previously thought of as a large gathering by Clayr standards paled in comparison to the number of people she now saw as she followed Touchstone and Sabriel into the grand ballroom of the Hereditary Arbiter’s estate. There were people from all different political positions, from Ancelstierre and beyond. Touchstone and Sabriel were not the only king and queen either, judging from the number of literally crowned heads Lirael could see. With a flute of sparkling wine in one hand, Lirael stuck close to her sister’s side, trying to simultaneously look at everyone and also not make eye contact.

Though Lirael didn’t realize it, she did look like she belonged among the extravagantly dressed crowd. On her head rested the delicate Clayr’s circlet, which brought out the silver accents in the deep blue formal gown she wore. The dress had been a birthday present from Ellimere, and was now probably the fanciest piece of clothing Lirael had ever owned. It was fairly similar in style to Sabriel’s dress, though the queen’s was done in the red and gold of the royal house, and was also considerably less modestly cut than Lirael’s.

Finishing a short, polite conversation with some council member or other, Sabriel turned and gave Lirael’s arm a gentle squeeze. “How are you holding up?”

“There’s so much to take in,” Lirael said, taking another sip of the wine. Her gaze travelled over the crowd, from the small chamber orchestra playing in the corner, to the tall leaded glass doors that stood open to the terrace and gardens beyond. “It’s all so beautiful, and there are so many people…”

“Mmm, yes, his Honor is known for being a little on the showy side when it comes to these things,” Sabriel said. She grinned and gave Lirael a light nudge with her elbow. “I’ve had several people comment on how beautiful my little sister is, and how surprisingly quiet too.”

Lirael winced. “I’m sorry, I tend to just stop talking when I’m nervous.”

“No, it’s fine, you’re fine,” Sabriel assured her. “You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want.”

Someone lightly touched Lirael’s other arm. “Though I should be very disappointed if you don’t talk to me at least!”

“Nick!” Lirael turned, smiling.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, dressed like that,” Nick was grinning. He also looked considerably healthier than the last time Lirael had seen him. “You look fantastic though,” he said, then turned to bow to Touchstone and Sabriel. “M’lady, your highness, good to see you both again.”

“And you, Nicholas,” Sabriel said. “You’re looking well.”

Touchstone nodded in agreement. “Yes, Lirael told us about the mess with the Hrule, good job with that.”

“Thank you, sire,” Nick said, puffing his chest up a little. “I should say I’d probably have been a goner if Lirael didn’t show up when she did.”

“Still, facing off against a Free Magic being like that is no small feat,” Sabriel said. “Lirael also said you changed your mind about joining us in the Old Kingdom?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nick nodded. “That is assuming your offer is still open, of course. My uncle is alright with it, but my parent’s might need some convincing. Not that I really need their permission of course, just figured that might be a bit more polite.”

Sabriel nodded slowly. “Are they here tonight? Perhaps we should invite the three of you over tomorrow to discuss this.”

“They’re here somewhere,” Nick said, glancing around.

“Then we will speak with them.”

“Thank you,” Nick looked both relieved and anxious.

***

Lirael would have liked to be seated next to Nick when dinner was finally served, but being royalty, she, Sabriel and Touchstone were seated at nearly the opposite end of the long table from the Sayres. The meal itself was wonderful, consisting of foods Lirael recognized and others she didn’t, all perfectly prepared.

There was also enough wine served that by the time the servants cleared the last of the dishes away, Lirael wasn’t the only one feeling notably more relaxed and pleasantly lightheaded. So much so that she barely remembered actually getting up from the table, just that one moment she was sitting, and the next she and Touchstone were standing together in the ballroom, which was once again filled with laughter and music.  

“I think I’ve lost my wife,” Touchstone said, draining the glass in his hand and setting it on the tray of a passing waiter.

Lirael squinted around. “I think…think she went off with Sulyn.”

“Ah, they’ll be gone for some time then,” Touchstone made a face. He took a breath. “Do the Clayr dance much?”

“Sorry?” Lirael looked up at him, frustrated that it took her longer than it should have to process the question. “I suppose…I suppose some of them do.”

“More importantly, do you?”

“Not really,” she said, giggling softly.

“Well, first time for everything,” he said, holding his hand out to her. “Come on, just one song.”

Lirael hesitated a moment, then took his hand, blushing a little as she let the king lead her out onto the dance floor and show her where to put her hands, and the thankfully simple steps. She realized that despite the six months she had been living with them, she barely knew Touchstone at all, and that left the whole experience of dancing with the king – even if he was her brother-in-law – a bit surreal.

“You alright?” Touchstone asked, chuckling at the expression on her face.

“I’m a bit…drunk,” she said determinedly. “Also dancing with the king.”

He laughed. “Glad to know the title of Abhorsen is passing to a woman with such observational skills. Sorry. You’re fine, you haven’t even stepped on my feet yet.”

Lirael’s head was spinning so much that she barely noticed when the song ended and they stopped moving. When she did, she embarrassedly let go of Touchstone’s hand and ran her fingers through her hair.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked again as they moved back over to the side of the room.  

“Mhmm,” Lirael said. “Oh, there’s Nick!”

“Hullo again,” Nick said, sidling over to them with a grin. “Your highness, mind if I steal Lirael away for a bit?”

Touchstone gave them an amused look. “That would be entirely up to Lirael, though I think I am going to go find my errant queen…” He patted Nick on the shoulder before making his way off through the crowd.

“No more dancing,” Lirael said, holding up her finger to stop Nick before he could ask.

“Alright then, have you been out to the gardens yet?” he asked, and offered Lirael his arm.

They made their way through the glass doors, across the terrace and down a flight of marble stairs to the gravel pathways of the softly lit gardens. There were fewer people down here than inside, milling among the carefully tended rosebushes and fountains. As lovely as it all was, Lirael still couldn’t help but feel more out of place here than she did at court in Belisaere.

Around a bend ahead of them came a man with white hair, whose equally white beard and moustache were as carefully tended to as the decorative bushes that surrounded them. He nodded in recognition when he saw Nick, and walked over.

“Ah, Mr Sayre, I was just speaking with your parents a few minutes ago. It is good to see you.”

“Senator Cabrera,” Nick said, inclining his head a little. Lirael could feel him stiffen slightly, and was instantly suspicious of the senator.

“And this must be Queen Sabriel’s sister,” Cabrera said as he turned to Lirael. He took her left hand and lifted it momentarily to her lips. “I am Wayland Cabrera, the local rep from Southshire county.”

Lirael smiled, even the lingering effects of the wine not being enough to stave off her habitual shyness as she murmured, “Lirael.”

“You look a great deal like your sister, though you’re a bit quieter it seems,” Cabrera observed with a soft laugh, finally releasing her hand. “Mr Sayre, you may have gotten off easy with this one. Though if what your mother says is true, you’ve gone a bit _native_ yourself.”

Nick visibly bristled at that. “Well, my mother doesn’t really know what she’s talking about, sir. The truth is I’d be dead if it weren’t for Lirael and Queen Sabriel, whatever you think of them.”

“Well,” Cabrera gave Nick a rather patronizing smirk and chuckle as he took a cigar and book of matches out of his pocket. “I’m not entirely sure what to think. All we’ve heard about the incident a few months ago are the rather fantastical stories the queen seems so fond of feeding us.”

“Are you calling her a liar?” Lirael said before she could stop herself, gaping a little in disbelief.

“They haven’t lied about anything that happened at Forwin Mill,” Nick said, barely keeping calm himself.

“It’s such a shame,” Cabrera took his time to light the cigar and take in a mouthful of smoke, then blow it out. “You two seem like intelligent young people, and yet they’ve clearly got you both convinced of that religious tripe that’s so important up there.”

“Sir,” Nick’s scowl had deepened. “You do know that most of the moot supports forming a more stable relationship with the Old Kingdom?”

Again Cabrera took his time before replying, “I would like to see the king and queen’s faces if they knew just how many members of the moot were, shall we say, _disappointed_ with the failure of Corolini’s little attempt with the bomb last year.”

For a moment Lirael felt shock, but that quickly gave way to anger. In a move that even she knew was uncharacteristic for herself, she slapped the cigar out of Cabrera’s hand. “And I would like to see what happens if you say that to the queen’s face! Nicholas and I aren’t children that you can intimidate, my sister and his uncle will hear about this.”

Cabrera stared down at her, then let out a breath of laughter. “As you say, my lady.” And with a mocking bow he swept past her down the path.

Lirael pressed one hand to her forehead, regret instantly setting in. She turned back to face Nick. “Oh, Charter help me I shouldn’t have done that, should I?”

“He was being an ass,” Nick said slowly, still gaping at her. “You know, every once in a while I really see the resemblance between you and the Abhorsen.”

“Nick!” She looked at him desperately. “What if I just made things worse for Sabriel? Oh why did I…”

Nick took a step closer to her, half raised his hands, then lowered them as though changing his mind about something. He let them fall to his sides instead and gave a little shrug.

“What are you doing?” Lirael asked, distracted by the odd little gesture.

“Lirael, I…” Nick hesitated, biting his lower lip. “I should very much like to kiss you right now.”

For a long moment his words didn’t register, leaving Lirael staring dumbly back at him. When they did, Lirael was surprised to realize that she didn’t want to turn away, or hide, but instead - “I should like that too,” she said quietly.

Nick took another step closer, one hand moving to her waist, the other resting lightly on her hair as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was just as a shy first kiss should be, soft and timid and over sooner than Lirael wanted. For several breaths after Nick drew back, she didn’t move.

“You look like you’ve never been kissed before,” Nick said softly, giving her a lopsided grin.

Lirael glanced down. “I haven’t.”

“But you’re so pretty!” Nick moved his hand from her hair to her cheek. “I bet loads of guys wanted to, they were probably just too shy to ask.”

Lirael had unconsciously ducked behind her hair again, and the amount Nick was willing to tip his head to find her lips again made her laugh into the second kiss and murmur, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Just a little.” Nick wrapped both arms around her, then laughed as well. “This is crazy, I’ve just kissed my best friend’s aunt.”

“You tell Sam and I will drag you into Death,” Lirael muttered, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I won’t!” Nick said, then visibly paled. “But you definitely can’t tell Sabriel.”

“What?” Lirael blinked at him. “Why would she care?”

“Because she’s the Abhorsen _and_ the bloody queen and I just kissed her little sister and I don’t know…aren’t I supposed to ask permission before I do that or something?” His voice trailed off and he straightened at the sound of footsteps coming down the gravel path towards them.

Lirael turned as well and saw Sabriel and Touchstone approaching, both with smiles on their faces. She also noted with interest that Sabriel’s hair, which had been tied up in a rather elegant bun earlier was now hanging loose about her shoulders.

“There you two are,” she said. “Nicholas, we just spoke with your parents, the three of you are joining us for breakfast tomorrow, so hopefully we can try…” Sabriel waved one slender hand vaguely.

“Talking?” Touchstone suggested, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Yes, that.” Sabriel shot him a look, then smiled at Lirael. “I think it might be time for us to head back, unless you wish to stay longer…?”

“No, that’s alright,” Lirael smiled.

Pointedly turning Touchstone back towards the house, Sabriel said, “We’ll be getting the car then.”

After they were out of sight, Lirael turned to Nick. “She knows.”

“Well, if she says anything, just ask her why her hair’s messy all of a sudden,” Nick said, smirking. “And if the king didn’t have something to –“

“Goodnight, Nick,” Lirael said, cutting him off. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Lirael.”

***

She awoke the following morning with a slight headache, and took her time getting washed up and dressed so that by the time she made it down to the private lounge, Nick and his parents were already there. The atmosphere in the room was icy and tense, directly contradicting the cheerful sunlight streaming in through the mullion windows. The two families were seated on couches on either side of a low table laid out with tea and coffee and light breakfast foods. Lirael slipped over to sit beside Sabriel, and shot Nick a smile. He was still looking rather bleary eyed, but grinned over the lip of his coffee cup.

“Oh, Mum, Dad, this would be Lirael,” he said as she sat.

Lirael managed a polite smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Nick’s mother gave her a rather frosty smile in return, and his father nodded. “And you.”

“Right,” Nick said, clearing his throat and setting his coffee down. “Now that we’re all here, I suppose I should just…so the thing is, the royal family’s invited me to come stay with them in the Old Kingdom for a while and I am going to take them up on the offer.”

His father turned to stare at him in disbelief. “Absolutely not!”

“Yeah, I’m not really asking your permission,” Nick said, though he couldn’t seem to meet his father’s gaze. “I’m just…letting you know.”

“Oh is that so?” His father shot Sabriel and Touchstone a withering look before turning back to his son. “Nicholas, we still don’t know even what happened to you, and now you want to go live there?”

“Actually, Mr. Sayre,” Touchstone said. “I believe we told your government _exactly_ what…”

“Bull. Shit. Your highness,” Mr Sayre growled.

Nick groaned and covered his face. “Oh my go- Father you can’t just-“

To his credit, Touchstone seemed to be taking this all rather calmly. He let out a sigh. “If you chose not to believe us that’s fine, but we did tell you.”

“Mother, father,” Nick said, waving one hand a little. “Let me remind you that I would be dead from my own stupidity if it weren’t for them, and especially if it weren’t for Lirael.”

The minute he said that Lirael wished he hadn’t. She could see it in his parents’ faces what they took that to mean, even before his father let out a derisive snort.

“Oh is _that_ what this is really about?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Nick said slowly. “I’m going.”

His parents exchanged a long look, then his mother sighed heavily. “What does your Uncle Edward have to say about this?”

“He thinks it’s a brilliant idea, actually,” Nick said. His eyes lit up a little as he scooted to the edge of his seat. “Think about it, what’s the biggest barrier preventing a more solid friendship between Ancelstierre and the Old Kingdom? It’s that we have no understanding of this thing they call the Charter, and that frightens us. I’m a scientist, Lirael and Queen Sabriel are two of the most powerful Charter mages in their country, spending time with them could mean me reaching some scientific explanation of the Charter that Ancelstierrans would be able to understand, think how important that could be!”

Everyone was silent following that proclamation. Nick’s father took his time pouring another cup of coffee before he said quietly, “Well, we obviously can’t stop you.”

“No, you can’t,” Nick said, still scowling. Then his expression relaxed and he sighed. “Thank you.”

***

Nick returned the following day with the few belongings of his that wouldn’t disintegrate on the other side of the wall. He stood in the foyer of the embassy with Lirael and Sabriel while Touchstone oversaw the loading of the car back to Bain and the wall.

“I wanted to apologize for my parents, ma’am,” he said, turning to Sabriel after a moment. “They can be disrespectful gits sometimes.”

Sabriel gave him a contemplative look. “They can be, yes. But they do love you, Nicholas, and that is where their seemingly irrational worry comes from.”

“I suppose,” he said, shrugging. “And maybe me doing this will help them see things a little better.”

“One can hope,” Sabriel said, still smiling as she turned to walk past them and outside to check on Touhcstone.

Lirael and Nick watched the door close behind her, then Nick side stepped closer and turned to kiss the corner of Lirael’s mouth. He grinned at her. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Lirael raised her eyebrows, feeling a little silly. “Are you ready for this?”

“Not at all,” he said, his hand sliding into hers. “But I am bloody well ecstatic about it all the same.”

Lirael nodded. “Hm. Well, just remember I have a job now so I might not be able to come save you if you get yourself enslaved by another necromancer.”

Nick’s grin widened. “As my dear father would probably say ‘bull shit, lady Abhorsen.’”

***

_Up next: Lirael gets a glimpse of a life that could have been, provided by an unlikely source._

 


	4. What Is and What Should Never Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning - there is *fake* character death in this chapter. It is fake because as the reader you'll know it isn't real, everyone involved knows it isn't real, but it's still described. Just thought a heads up might still be appropriate.

The margrue looked up at Lirael with bulbous, silver, flaming eyes. It looked like some monstrous conglomeration of hare and bulldog, far too muscular, far too many teeth. Its long ears and stubby nose might have been comical if it weren’t for the flames licking their edges and the reek of free magic rising from its rippling hide. Lirael had seen pictures of margrue in various books before, but she had never encountered them in life.

Somewhere on the other side of the copse of pine trees to her left, Lirael heard the last peal of Saraneth dying away.

“Sabriel!” she called, taking a step back from the margrue. It bared its teeth and growled, drops of saliva that looked like quicksilver falling onto the mud and sizzling in the cool evening.

The Abhorsen appeared a moment later, sword still in hand, buckling the pouch closed over Saraneth. Sabriel was breathing heavily and looked more annoyed than anything else, but her expression changed when she caught the first whiff of Free Magic. “What is _that_?”

“Margrue,” Lirael said, grateful that the beast remained immobile as she moved to stand beside Sabriel. “I know how to disperse them, only…”

“Only what?” Sabriel asked, shooting Lirael a sideways look.

“They always come in packs.”

As soon as Lirael said it, more pairs of silver eyes appeared in the lengthening shadows of the trees. She counted five beasts all together and swallowed thickly. At least she wasn’t alone.

“Well, my dear,” Sabriel said, clearly counting as well. “You’re the creature expert, what do we do?”

Even just three months ago the idea of the _Abhorsen_ asking _her_ what to do would have been beyond Lirael’s imagination. Now, perhaps partially due to the adrenaline of having banished a whole slew of dead hands in a couple short hours, she simply felt a swell of pride that Sabriel had such trust in her.

“We need to make them, well, explode from the inside,” Lirael said, looking around. “Ah! Pinecones. Pinecones would be _perfect_. Just grab two smaller ones and put a few drops of your blood on them, then I’ll enchant them.”

Sabriel was giving her a perplexed look, but she shook her head and bent over to grab two dry pinecones that lay at her feet. The minute she and Lirael cut their hands to drop blood on the pinecones, the Margrues’ noses began to twitch, but none of the creatures moved from where they stood. This concerned Lirael, she knew that they were some of the least intelligent Free Magic creatures out there, which made them easy to control. It also meant that they were rarely seen outside of the grasp of a necromancer…

“Lirael?” Sabriel must have noticed the worried look on her face. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I’ll tell you after, let’s just get rid of these.” Carefully, Lirael imbued each pine cone with the symbols for fire, for exploding, for unraveling and cutting apart. When she was done she took one, and tossed it underhanded towards the margrue, like she was throwing a treat to a dog.

One lunged up and snapped the pinecone into its mouth, apparently swallowing it whole. There was a soft pop, and the creature’s form seemed to explode in slow motion, holding its form even as it came apart and dissolved, until a gust of wind blew it away. For a moment the others growled, and Lirael was worried that they might not fall for the same trick, but when Sabriel threw another bloodied pinecone, another margrue snapped it up, and Lirael remembered just how stupid they were without a necromancer to control them.

When the last of the margrue was gone, Sabriel let out a weary groan and reached up to tie her hair in a loose bun. It had started to rain again, fat, warm droplets that made a soft _plink-plink_ sound as they hit the exposed armor plates on both women’s arms. “Well done,” Sabriel said, smiling as she turned to Lirael. “Now what was it you realized a moment ago?”

“Well,” Lirael said as they started back to the main road that would take them to the small nearby village. “If there wasn’t a necromancer controlling them, the margrue should have been considerably less organized…but if they did have someone controlling them, why did they just stand there? Why wouldn’t they have attacked us?”

“Do necromancers ever just use them as scouts?” Sabriel asked, her brow furrowing.

“I suppose they could…but why not just use gore crows?” Lirael was more musing to herself now than actually asking Sabriel. “Unless the margrue were more convenient or they were trying to throw us off guard, or…Sabriel, what if it’s Chlorr?”

To her surprise, Sabriel seemed annoyed by the suggestion. “Oh for Charter’s sake, we cannot afford to keep jumping at shadows always assuming it’s her. She hasn’t shown her face since Mogget ran her off!” Then she sighed, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the road, rubbing one hand over her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t snap at you like that, we should be cautious for her, of course, I’m just…exhausted.”

Lirael reached for her arm. “Take the paperwing back to Belisaere, I can walk to the House from here, I’m sure. I’ll find those books we needed, and then I can figure a way back to the city.”

“I really should teach you to fly a paperwing,” Sabriel said after a moment. Then she smiled and they continued walking. “I’ll send someone by to pick you up in a day or so, or I’ll come myself. You’re sure you won’t mind being on your own?”

“I’ll be fine,” Lirael assured her. “You just go spend time with Touchstone.”

Sabriel abruptly pulled her close and kissed her temple. “Thank you.”

***

Lirael arrived at Abhorsen’s House the following evening. As she left the town she had met a miller, who lived just a little ways north of the House along the Ratterlin. The kindly old man had only been happy to give her a ride in his mule-drawn cart, and he and his wife even invited her in for dinner, saying it was the least they could do after everything she and Sabriel had done for the kingdom. She accepted the invitation, and was feeling quite content as she finally stepped through the front door of the House.

After a long relaxing bath, Lirael headed down the hall to the study. There was already a fire going in the fireplace, and Lirael saw someone sitting in one of the leather armchairs. Their back was to her, but there was really only one person – or _being_ , to be precise – that shock of white hair could belong to.

“Mogget?” Lirael said curiously.

“Oh hello,” he drawled, turning to peer at her. Mogget seemed to enjoy playing with variations of form now that he was free to do so. Currently he looked like a man in his mid-thirties, clean shaven, with distinctly cat-like green eyes. He wore a surcoat of a cut not unlike Lirael’s, though Mogget’s was completely white. “I didn’t hear you come in, must’ve been asleep. I suppose there’s no use trying to get you to use my proper name, is there?”

Lirael edged over a bit warily to sit in the chair opposite his. “This is a new form.”

“Ish,” said Mogget. “You try holding roughly the same set of forms for a thousand years and not get bored with them.”

“Speaking of,” Lirael said, narrowing her eyes. “Why are you still here? You could be anywhere in the Old Kingdom if you wanted.”

Mogget licked one finger and flicked through a few pages of the book in his lap. “I coooould,” he said. “But old habits die hard, as they say. I got rather used to this place.”

“I think you just like being fed and having a warm place to sit.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Not really,” Lirael shrugged. “So long as you don’t try to kill me or Sabriel.”

“It’s been six months,” Mogget snorted, “if I was going to do that you’d be dead already. Besides, loath as I am to say it, your sister has… _endeared_ herself to me. By which I mean I hate her considerably less than I’ve hated any Abhorsen before and that is saying something because she can still be an idiot, even at her age.”

“Is there anyone you _don’t_ think is an idiot?” Lirael asked pointedly.

Mogget seemed to consider it for a moment. “No. Not particularly. But if you want to get technical about it, you, your sister and her offspring are the closest thing to family I have in this miserable world, so there’s that.”

“What?” Lirael let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “We’re related to you?”

“Technically, I said. It’s putting human terms on things that are very much not human.” Seeing Lirael still staring at him, Mogget let out a huff. “The great bloodlines are sprung from the Bright Shiners, don’t you know anything? Your sister, for example, reminds me a great deal of your ancestor Saraneth, back when they were at their most human, back before there was an Abhorsen and before there were bells. And you, my dour little Abhorsen-in-Waiting, are a daughter of Astarael without a doubt.”

“Thanks,” Lirael muttered, remembering with a shiver the two times now that she had encountered fragments of the Weeper. She shot Mogget a look. “So is that it? You’re here because you love your family?”

“ _Love_ , what an infuriating and useless emotion, I’m so glad I cannot actually experience it,” was Mogget’s reply. “Caring, perhaps. A sense of loyalty, even more. Obligation? Certainly. But never love. And you humans acting as though love is the be-all-end-all of your short, pathetic lives. If someone were to make me say who is the most important human to me right now I suppose I’d have to say your sister, but I don’t love her in any capacity. And I don’t love you.”

Lirael stared at him, trying to wrap her mind around it. There was nothing cruel in Mogget’s tone for once, he was simply stating a fact. But she still couldn’t understand. “But…having a family that loves you and that you love in return, it’s important.”

“How far did love get you in _your_ childhood, hmm?” Mogget asked, eyes flashing a little. “How many of your Clayr relatives loved you?”

“I’m sure they loved me, even if it was hard for them to show it. That’s just…that’s their way.”

“And where did that leave you? Depressed? Ostracized because you were their family but not like them? What good did that empty love do you then?”

“I’m not talking about that!” Lirael said hotly. “I’m talking about the way the Disreputable Dog loved me. The way Sabriel loved me even when she’d only known I existed for a few hours. That sort of love that leads people to do the sort of things they did for me.”

“That’s family, and whether it is blood or something you make, family _is_ important,” Mogget said. “Which is why I am still here.”

“I think it is love, you just don’t want to call it that,” Lirael muttered.

“I think you’re personifying my behavior too much,” Mogget shot back. “I’m not human. I do not process the world the same way you do.”

Lirael frowned, and drew her knees up to her chest. After a few moments of silence she said, “I sometimes wonder what it would have been like, growing up with her. Sabriel I mean. If we had been closer in age.”

“Ahhh…” Mogget said, turning more fully to her, true interest showing in his eyes. “Things happen the way they do for a reason, Remembrancer. I think your childhood would have been happier, yes, but your adulthood…not so much.”

“What? Why not?”

“Hmm…hmm…” he murmured to himself, then smiled and held out one white, long fingered hand to her. “I am going to do something I shouldn’t. I’m going to borrow part of your own powers to show you something, and then I don’t want you dwelling on what might have been any longer.”

Lirael eyed his hand, but did not take it.  She raised her eyebrows at him.

“The Clayr’s job is to understand how things _might be_ affected, your job as a Remembrancer is to understand how things _were_ affected,” Mogget explained slowly. “They can see potential futures. One of the safe-guards in your magic is that you cannot see potential pasts, at least not on your own. I’m going to show you why.”

“Is it dangerous?” Lirael said, even as she reached out slowly to grasp his bony fingers.

“Only to your emotional stability. This is a shadow, Lirael. It will seem real, but it will not be.” Mogget gripped her hand.

 Lirael felt heat run along her arm, her vision began to grow brighter and brighter until the room disappeared and everything faded to white…

***

***

With a new school year just about to start, girls of all ages had been arriving at Wyverly College for the past few days, most being dropped off by their families. There were many hugs and tears and words of reassurance exchanged on the sloping green lawns of the school, as happened every year. It was easy to pick out the new girls, they were the smallest ones, the ones most prone to crying and clinging to their parents or siblings. Lirael, her dark hair braided neatly back into two pigtails (her sister’s work, certainly not the Abhorsen’s) had her arms around her father’s neck, her face buried in his shoulder. Being the daughter of the Abhorsen meant she was used to being away from him, but the idea of spending a whole _year_ without him was almost too much to bear.

Just behind her stood Sabriel, who, even at only one year ahead, had a look on her face that said these goodbyes were old business to her. Still, she reached out and put her pale hands on Lirael’s shoulders when Abhorsen finally pried his youngest daughter off and got to his feet.

“No more tears, my little star,” he said softly, brushing one broad thumb over Lirael’s cheek. “You are going to be alright. I shall see you sooner than you think. You have your big sister here, and you shall make lots of new friends.”

“No I shan’t!” Lirael sniffed, though she did cling a little harder to Sabriel’s arm.

“You shall,” Abhorsen said. “It is alright to be afraid, but remember that you are stronger than anything you might fear.” He looked up to include Sabriel in the next statement. “I shall miss both of you, my sweet, wonderful girls. Be very brave, and very good.”

“We will,” Sabriel promised, only now showing a glimmer of sadness as she hugged Lirael tighter to her.

“Good.” Abhorsen leaned over to kiss each of them on the forehead. “I love you both more than I can say. I will write you soon, I promise. Farewell.” He gazed at them for a moment longer, then turned and started back towards the front drive where a cab was waiting to take him to the wall.

One of the upper form girls who were in charge of showing the new students around, and who clearly knew Sabriel from last year, came over as soon as he left. She spoke cheerfully with the sisters, and even said something that got Lirael to smile a little, before motioning for them to follow her up the front steps and into the school.

***

  
“Jacinth!” Lirael said desperately, watching her younger friend clearly preparing to scale the wrought iron fence around the school . “You’re going to get in trouble!”

Jacinth looked at her with round eyes. “I need to get Bunny, Lirael. Besides, your sister’s a prefect, you can just tell her to get me out of trouble?”

“You think I can tell Sabriel _anything_?” Lirael said, rolling her eyes.

They both heard the screech of car tires coming to a sudden stop, then the vehicle speeding off. Lirael winced, looking to the road. She had felt the faint life wink out, even from this distance. Jacinth must have instinctively known what happened, because she let out a cry and a moment later had scrambled over the top of the fence.

Torn between helping her friend, and not getting into trouble herself, Lirael hesitated only a moment before following, nearly tearing her skirt on the spikes along the top of the fence.

When they reached the road, Lirael came to a stop and blinked. There in the street lay Bunny, and bending over him was… “Sabriel?” Lirael said, but her sister did not hear her. Sabriel’s eyes were closed, her long fingers resting on the soft fur of the rabbit, and a thin layer of frost covered the pavement around her. After a second Sabriel tipped forward, caught herself, and stood with the now struggling rabbit in her hands.

Lirael and Jacinth ran forward. “Bunny!” Jacinth cried again. “Oh, Sabriel, thank you, thank you, when I heard the car tires I…”

“You’re both out of bounds,” Sabriel said crossly. “Lirael, you know better.”

“Me?!” Lirael cried in disbelief. “ _You_ were just - ”

“I was what?” Sabriel said, giving her a very pointed look. She handed Bunny back to Jacinth and gave her a stern look. “If you’re back inside in three minutes, I won’t have seen you. And use the gate this time.”

Jacinth beamed and hugged Bunny to her neck before she turned and went running back up towards the gate. This time, Lirael did not follow. She fell into step with her sister, still glaring at her. “I saw what you did,” she hissed. “Bunny was dead, I _felt_ it. I’m going to tell Father and you’ll be in _so_ much trouble!”

“You’re not telling Father anything,” Sabriel glared right back at her. “I didn’t actually go into Death, I just reached in and grabbed the stupid thing. Jacinth’s your friend, you should be happy you won’t have to spend the whole night listening to her cry because her rabbit died.”

Lirael sighed then let out a worried sound. “But it’s dangerous, Sabriel! You’ve been so full of yourself ever since that Mordicant. And Father said you have to be extra careful, even down here. What would I do if something happened to you?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Sabriel said, catching the truly concerned tone in her sister’s voice and giving her a reassuring smile.

“You say that…” Lirael grumbled, but leaned against Sabriel anyway, putting an arm around her. “Is Father coming tonight?”

“He’s supposed to. Can you be in my study by ten?”

“Of course.” They were inside the gates by then, and Sabriel had locked them. Lirael smiled at her, earlier anger forgotten, gave a little wave, then went charging back off up the drive to the school.

***

By the early dawn light, Sabriel was carefully packing things into a large bag. Nearby stood her skis and winter gear, and on the bed lay a sword belt and leather bandolier. She had a glum, serious expression, and seemed completely oblivious to Lirael, who was standing in the doorway.

“I’m coming with you,” Lirael said after a moment.

Sabriel looked up at her. “Absolutely not!”

“I want to help Father too!”

“For one thing, the Sending called me, not you,” Sabriel said, closing her pack and turning to face Lirael, hands on her hips. “For another, it’s incredibly dangerous, and besides, you need to finish school, you’ve still got a whole year left.”

“But Father said I didn’t…”

“Only if you got the Sight! And you haven’t yet. We both know by this age you’re not likely too either.”

Lirael gaped at her, then, glaring, grabbed a small throw pillow and hurled it as hard as she could at Sabriel, though she missed by several inches. “You’re so mean!” she said, but already her voice was breaking, tears running down her cheeks. Lirael sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest.

Sabriel sighed and walked over to kneel beside her, wrapping her arms around Lirael and hugging her tightly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “That _was_ cruel. I didn’t mean it, I’m just worried about Father and what might have happened. And I just want you to be safe, Lirael. If you came along and something happened to you, I would never forgive myself.”

“But what if you don’t come back?!” Lirael sobbed, pressing into her embrace.

“I will!” Sabriel pushed her upright and took her face in both hands. “I will come back, and I’ll bring Father with me. I promise.”

“But what if you don’t?”

They were both quiet for a long time, staring at each other, not wanting to admit that Lirael was right. There was always that chance. After what seemed an eternity, Sabriel helped Lirael to her feet and placed a careful kiss on her forehead.

“I _swear_ I will,” she whispered. “That’s the best I can do.”

“You better,” Lirael said, still looking on the verge of tears.

Sabriel brushed her thumb over Lirael’s cheek and smiled lightly. “Be very brave, and very good. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Lirael said weakly, before throwing her arms around Sabriel’s shoulders for one last hug.

***

Like nearly every other girl in the whole school, Lirael heard the commotion down in the entrance hall and came running. She stood with her classmates now, watching Mrs Umbrade arguing with the soldiers, that is until a familiar figure stepped through the doors.

“Sabriel!” Lirael shrieked, causing everyone to look up at her suddenly. She nearly knocked a few other girls over as she charged down the stairs and, despite various teachers’ attempts to restrain her, right past the soldiers to fling herself into her sister’s arms. “You came back, you’re alright, oh I knew you would be I _knew_ you could do it…”

Sabriel hugged her just as fiercely, burying her nose in her little sister’s hair and rocking her from side to side. “Oh, Lirael…” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, I tried…Father’s….he’s…he’s dead, I’m sorry.”

Lirael fought down tears as she drew back. Only now did she notice Sabriel’s outfit: the surcoat, the bandolier… “That means you’re…”

“Yes,” Sabriel said gravely. She glanced at the young man standing beside her, and something passed between them before she looked at Lirael and put her hands on her shoulders. “But we can’t think about Father right now, there’s something much worse happening. Can you find Magistrix Greenwood and tell her to get the senior magic class together?”

Over the next hour, in between giving orders and directing people, Sabriel told Lirael of all that had happened. Of her flight to the house, and the Mordicant. Of Mogget and the paperwing flight. Finding Touchstone, traveling to Belisaere, their father’s last moments, of Kerrigor and the fate that awaited them if they did not stop him. And Lirael did not try to hide that she was frightened, but remembering her father’s parting words at the beginning of each year, she refused to let the fear get to her, even when gunfire started up outside.

***

Lirael sat crouched beside Touchstone, too terrified to scream, or cry, or run, or any of the other things she should have been doing. All she could do was stare as her sister faced the horrible writhing mass of darkness and Free Magic that was Kerrigor.

Touchstone grabbed at her sleeve, voice hoarse as he whispered, “We need to get to her, Lirael, help me we must get to Sabriel…”

“Yes,” she said numbly, taking his arm around her shoulders and half-carrying, half-dragging the injured prince across the rubble strewn floor.

Kerrigor laughed when he saw them. “Your sister and lover crawl towards us, a pathetic sight…”

Sabriel looked as well, and for a few heartbeats everything in the hall seemed to slow. She had some sort of silver hoop in one hand, and she let out a breath as her eyes met Lirael’s. Sabriel mouthed something that looked like, “ _Be very brave_ ,” before she turned and flipped the silver hoop over Kerrigor’s head.

The scene exploded into action once again. The ring slid down Kerrigor, contracting as it went and he let out a furious, inhuman cry before he threw Sabriel to the ground like she was a ragdoll. When Kerrigor turned, Lirael could see the hilt of Sabriel’s sword sticking out of his unreal flesh, she saw his hand close around it and yank it free.

Lirael tried to shout for Sabriel to watch out, to be careful, but Sabriel was on her feet and a second later Kerrigor thrust out with the sword, driving the blade clean through Sabriel’s midriff before yanking it free. Then he turned, impossibly gaping mouth twisting into a horrible smile as he fixed his burning eyes on Lirael.

“I will end you too, you half-breed whelp!” he roared, but another sound cut through, the sweet, gentle call of Ranna.

Lirael fell back against the wall behind her, eyes closing for what was probably only a moment, but when she opened them again Kerrigor was no longer there, just a small black cat…She looked past the cat and screamed. “ _Sabriel_!”

Ignoring all else around her, Lirael ran over to where her sister lay in a growing pool of her own blood, blood that shone dark red in the lights now flickering back to life. Sabriel’s head was turned to the side, her eyes open, but glassy and blank. One hand still clutched Ranna’s handle.

Lirael fell to her knees, choking back hysterical sobs as she felt her sister’s spirit slipping further and further away. Without thinking she hurled herself at the boundry between life and Death –

The water was painfully cold around her legs, and there were so many spirits being carried by it. Lirael looked around, turning in a slow circle, tears still freezing on her face. “Sabriel?!!” she cried, but there was no response. “Sabriel, please, where are you?!”

The roar of the first gate was all that answered. None of the silvery forms moving past had her sister’s face. Sabriel was already gone.

Someone was shaking her body in life, and Lirael opened her eyes to see Touchstone’s tear-streaked face. For a brief second there was a glimmer of hope in his grey eyes, a glimmer that dissolved when Lirael slowly shook her head. He let out a broken sob and pulled her close. Lirael leaned numbly against him, staring down at the lifeless body that was no longer her sister.

In such a short time, the Old Kingdom had lost two Abhorsens. Now the newest one sat in the arms of the king, without any idea of what they would do next.

***

***

Lirael was crying when Mogget pulled her out of the memory. Like a nightmare that lingered even after waking, the utter grief and helplessness clung to the inside of Lirael’s throat and chest. She could not stop her sobs, her throat felt raw and she choked on them so much she nearly threw up, until Mogget put a glass of water in her hand.

“Stop crying,” he said. “I did warn you.”

“You didn’t tell me you’d make me watch Sabriel die!” Lirael said, voice still thick with tears. She took a deep breath, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “You didn’t have to do that!”

“But that is what would have happened,” Mogget said. “If you had been alive when Kerrigor tried to kill Sabriel, she would have died instead of being returned.”

“So you’re saying Sabriel was essentially immortal until I came along?” Lirael said glumly. “And now if she dies it’ll be my fault?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course not,” Mogget said, returning to his own chair. “First of all, immortality is an illusion. All things must die eventually.. And besides, your sister has proved herself remarkably difficult to kill, even since your birth. Believe me, I’ve tried several times.”

“Sanar said that they have Seen that Sabriel and Touchstone will know their grandchildren,” Lirael said quietly, doing a better job of reassuring herself than Mogget was.

“Well, there you are then. I have no doubt that your sister has many decades ahead of her yet, and will live to be a grey-haired and rather terrifying old woman,” Mogget said. “Now, have you finished crying about something that never happened? And more importantly, do you see why ‘what ifs’ are rarely as nice as you think they might be?”

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head as though to banish the image of Sabriel’s lifeless body from her mind.

“Life would have gone on,” Mogget murmured, guessing what she was still thinking about. “The grief of her death would have brought you and Touchstone together. You would have become the Abhorsen Queen in her place, would have given birth to children who wore the crown and wielded the bells. All things die, Lirael, and nothing truly ends the world.”

“All things die and nothing truly ends the world,” Lirael repeated slowly, running her fingers through her hair. “Perhaps _that_ should be at the end of _The Book of the Dead_.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and forced herself to smile which, strangely, did make her feel better. “But you are right, it didn’t happen. Sabriel is alive, and I have her and Touchstone and Sam and Ellimere and…and Nicholas…”

“Oh, not you too!” Mogget groaned. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and fallen in love with a pretty yet stupid young man who really should have just been left where you found him?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lirael asked, scowling. “Besides, Nick isn’t stupid. And I’m not _in love_ with him I’ve only kissed him once.”

“ _Bleugh_ ,” Mogget managed to sound like he was coughing up a hairball. “You are so much like your sister it’s sickening. Isn’t it your bedtime yet?”

“Maybe.” Lirael got to her feet, then smiled at him in an exaggeratedly sweet way. “Good night, Yrael.”

“I _hate_ you…sleep well.”

***

Wan sunlight filtered into Lirael’s bedroom in the royal palace. From the streets below, she could hear the by now familiar sounds of the city starting to wake; the clatter of cart wheels on cobble stone, the nickering of horses, vendors shouting as they set up for the day. It must be early still, she knew, but for once Lirael realized she did not have to immediately spring out of bed and get to work.

She was just settling back under her blanket when she heard the sound of her door opening, and then a curiously whispered, “Aunt Lirael?”

“Ellimere?” Lirael sat up a little and blinked groggily at her niece.

“Oh you _are_ home!” Ellimere slipped into the room and darted over to sit on the end of Lirael’s bed. She looked like she had only just rolled out of bed herself, sill in her nightgown, her black hair braided but messy form having been slept on. “I had just gotten up and I saw your boots in the hall…I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Lirael rubbed her eyes and smiled. She was still rather befuddled by Ellimere. Her niece was the exact opposite of the sort of girl Lirael could imagine being friends with, and yet Ellimere seemed to adore her, and Lirael quite liked her in return.

“Sorry, I probably woke you up, didn’t I?” Ellimere said, wincing.

“No, I was already…” Lirael shook her head, yawning.

“Mother was saying last night that you’ve been brilliant, I’m so glad she’s got a proper assistant now...” Ellimere hesitated, then scooted over to wrap her arms around Lirael for a moment. “I can leave you alone now if you like, I just had to say hello.”

A bell somewhere down in the city was ringing seven. Lirael shook her head again. “No really, Elli, it’s fine, I should get up anyway.”

Ellimere bit her lip, then said, “Oh! I know. When I was little, whenever Mother was actually home on a Sunday, I used to bring her and Father breakfast…we should do that. Sam and Nicholas will still be asleep for hours.”

“Sabriel and Touchstone won’t mind us waking them up?” Lirael asked.

“The day Father is angry at someone for bringing him coffee and food,” Ellimere said slowly, “You’ll know that the kingdom is actually about to fall.”

Lirael shrugged then, nodded, and got out of bed, moving to grab slippers and robe.

A few minutes later Ellimere had a tray containing an earthenware pot of coffee and four mugs, and Lirael a plate of still warm sweetrolls that they were bringing back along the hallway to the king and queen’s rooms. Shifting her burden, Ellimere knocked on the door.

A second passed before Touchstone called, “What is it?”

“Me and Lirael, Dad, we’ve got breakfast.”

“Then get in here!” came the muffled reply.

Ellimere grinned and nudged the door open with her shoulder. Touchstone had clearly already been awake, sitting up with some papers spread in his lap, which he set aside as they entered. Sabriel was still burrowed under the covers somewhere, but the smell of coffee drew her out as well.

“Ellimere, this is…it’s been a while since you did this,” Sabriel said, stretching.

“Well, you know, I though Lirael should get the full experience of being part of this family,” Ellimere climbed up on the bed on her father’s side, setting the tray down in the middle of it and reaching out to hold the pot of coffee from spilling as she motioned Lirael over as well.

Lirael sat a little more hesitantly by her sister, setting her plate down as well. Sabriel smiled and pulled her close, kissing her temple and murmuring, “How was the flight last night? I know Aeryn can be a bit of a wild pilot…”

“She was fine,” Lirael said, smiling. “It was…long and uneventful.”

Touchstone, who had just accepted a mug of coffee from his daughter, let out a long, content sound. “Oh…have I mentioned lately that the women in this family are absolute miracles?”

“Yes, whatever would you do without us?” Sabriel said, and leaned over to kiss him.

“Not very much, considering I would still be a wooden figurehead in Holehallow.”

The conversation maintained that light tone as they ate. There was no talk of the Dead, or anything more serious than how one of Ellimere’s friends had now ruined two tennis rackets in the past month. It was one of those utterly simple, and at the same time wonderful family moments that Lirael realized she’d never experienced in the glacier where the entire population of several thousand was considered family.

“I’ve just realized,” Touchstone said after a bit, glancing at his wife, “We’ve basically got four children now. How did that happen?”

“Children?” Ellimere sniffed. “Father. Lirael and I are nearly twenty, Sam and Nick are eighteen…Mother was younger than I am when you two got married and had me!”

Touchstone abruptly scowled. “You are not getting married and you are certainly not getting pregnant. That was an entirely different circumstance.”

Sabriel pretended to hide her mouth from him with one hand so she could whisper at Ellimere and Lirael, “Because my father wasn’t there to scare him off.”

“No,” Touchstone said. “He just rang Astarael and almost threw me into Death.”

“That…really should not be funny,” Sabriel said, trying hard to frown. A smile still crept through. “That was our first kiss, though.”

“Kiss? You _bit_ me,” Touchstone wrinkled his nose, then smiled and brought his hand to her cheek for a moment.

Sabriel leaned in and pressed her lips to his, definitely not biting. “I kissed you and saved your life.”

“Ugh,” Ellimere snorted. “You two are going to make me vomit.”

“Elli!” Sabriel said, but her eyes sparkled with amusement.

“In all seriousness,” Touchstone continued. “I think your father would have been very pleased with everything you’ve done. Even producing _that_ one,” he added, wiggling a finger at Ellimere, who stuck her tongue out at him.

Lirael looked to Sabriel. “I wish I could have met our father.”

“Oh, I wish you had too,” Sabriel was still smiling, though now there was a hint of sadness. “He would have adored you, I’m sure. You would have probably been his little princess while he was training me up to be the Abhorsen-in-waiting.” She winked.

“But we’d have been very brave, and very good,” Lirael whispered to herself. Sabriel heard and an odd look came over her face, but she said nothing.

“You know what I also just realized,” Touchstone said. “We are actually all in Belisaere for once…what do you say after Nicholas and Sameth get up we do something as a family today? Not working.”

“I say that sounds wonderful,” said Sabriel and Ellimere in unison, before exchanging a mildly perturbed look.

***

Afternoon found all six of them walking down on the beach together. It was one of those rare moments when no one wore their usual weaponry, neither Lirael nor Sabriel even had their bandoliers on. Of course a regiment of the palace guard watched the royal family closely from the nearby grassy hill, but other than that they could have been any regular family enjoying the lovely late summer afternoon.

Sam, Ellimere and Nick had all immediately went running for the water’s edge, but Lirael hung back with Sabriel and Touchstone. She did kick her sandals off and relish the feeling of sun-warmed sand beneath her bare feet, but she was content to walk quietly beside her sister and brother-in-law.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Sabriel said. “How did you know that thing Father used to say to me? ‘Be very brave and very good.’ He used to say that to me when he dropped me off at school, there’s no way you could have…”

Lirael bit her lip. “Mogget showed me…he showed me what it would have been like if we were closer in age and I had grown up with you.”

Both Sabriel and Touchstone stopped and stared at her.

“I’m not sure how he did it,” she continued, shrugging. “Something about borrowing my remembrance powers. He was trying to teach me a lesson about not focusing on what could have happened.”

Sabriel peered at her curiously. “Well, what was it like?”

“It…it was lovely,” Lirael said, looking at her feet. The image of Sabriel’s body lying on the floor of the school flashed across her mind. She looked up then, at her sister, reassuring herself that Sabriel was there and alive. “But I like the real version better.”

“Was going to school with me too much of a pain?” Sabriel asked, chuckling.

Lirael looked away again. “No…it’s…Kerrigor he…killed you.”

“Oh.” Sabriel paused, and absently touched just below her breastbone, the place where the sword really had run her through. She reached over and squeezed Lirael’s shoulder. “Yes, I like this version much better as well.”

Before Lirael could respond, Ellimere called her name and waved her over to see something they had found washed up on the shore. Sabriel gave her a little encouraging nudge and Lirael started towards the others, though she did glance back over her shoulder to see Touchstone holding Sabriel close, murmuring something to her with a deep frown on his face.

They remained on the beach well into the afternoon. Eventually Ellimere began chasing Sam around, apparently attempting to throw her brother into the water. Not particularly wanting to get drenched herself, Lirael wandered further along to where the ruins of an old wall ran over the sand and dipped into the ocean. She dropped her shoes and hopped up on the low wall, smiling at the feeling of warm rocks under her, and spreading her arms to balance as she walked along it.

“Having fun up there?”

Lirael glanced down to see Nick standing below her, hands in his pockets as he grinned up at her. He held up his hands then, and when Lirael didn’t protest, put them on her waist, supporting her as she hopped back down to the sand. It felt so natural then to drape her arms around his neck, to press closer and kiss him. She could feel Nick smiling into the kiss, swaying gently back and forth until finally they parted and stood there, foreheads resting together.

“My forehead feels tingly,” he murmured after a second.

“Our Charter marks are touching,” Lirael said. She was feeling an odd sort of pleasant tingle all along her body as well, but that, she was sure, had nothing to do with the Charter marks. Glancing back up the beach she could see Sabriel and Touchstone sitting together in the sand, and Sam and Ellimere still chasing one another.

After only a moment’s hesitation Lirael slid her hand down Nick’s arm to grasp his hand, curling her fingers through his as they started back towards the others. Sabriel glanced up as they drew near, but she simply smiled, saying nothing. They were all distracted a moment later by a particularly loud shout from Sam, and a loud splash that indicated his sister had apparently been successful in her attempts to throw him under.

“And those are the hands that will rule this kingdom,” Touchstone muttered. “Charter preserve us all.”

“Oh, because you never did anything like that,” Sabriel said, amused as she turned a little to press a kiss to his jaw.

“Never!” Touchstone said, adopting a look of mock indignation. “But my older sister did that exact thing to me, so I can sympathize with Sam. Older sisters, Lirael, take it from me, they’re not always worth the trouble.”

Sabriel elbowed him. “Oh shut it.”

Lirael laughed softly, then sat down, pulling Nick with her.

“How long before you two have to leave again?” Nick asked, glancing between Sabriel and Lirael.

“Hard to say,” Sabriel murmured. She tucked her hair behind her ear and let out a breath. “A few days if we are lucky, however long it takes the next incursion of the Dead to show up. Luckily it is still summer, and there is more sun and water and fewer Dead at this time of year. But winter is coming, and that is always worse.”

Nick nodded, shifting a little so Lirael could lean back against him. “Can I come with you next time?” he asked, still looking at Sabriel.

Sabriel looked back at him now, surprised by the request. Lirael too turned her head, but she was watching her sister’s face. Something nearly unreadable, something that might have been sadness, regret, worry, shone in her eyes before she shook her head. “I am sorry, Nicholas, that just wouldn’t be a good idea. You have been here less than a month, you are no Charter mage, you barely know how to use a sword…”

“Right, figured as much,” Nick let out a long sigh and rested his chin on Lirael’s shoulder. “It’s not fair though.”

“No, it isn’t,” Sabriel agreed. “I wish it could be different.”

“But it could be,” Nick wheedled. “I mean it really is up to - ”

“And I said _no_ ,” Sabriel’s voice was suddenly cold, the look she fixed Nick with enough to make even Lirael shiver. “You still are very ignorant of this land, I will not have your death on my hands, and I will not have you distracting Lirael from her work. End of discussion.”

Lirael could feel Nick starting to bristle and she squeezed his hand tighter. Worrying that the pleasant afternoon had already been spoiled by the brewing argument, she whispered, “Please…don’t…”

For a moment she thought Nick might actually let the subject drop. He gave a little shrug, toying with a twig in the sand. But then he couldn’t resist adding a muttered, “It would just be nice if I could actually spend some time with my girlfriend, is all.”

It was possible to pinpoint the exact moment he actually looked up at Sabriel, because Nicholas very visibly flinched under the expression on the Abhorsen’s face.

“I am the Abhorsen and the queen, Nicholas, do not forget that,” she said slowly. “When I tell you ‘no this is for your own safety’ you do not argue, you do not protest, and you certainly do not complain to _me_ about how difficult it is!” Sabriel pushed herself to her feet and grabbed her shoes. “And if you cannot handle that, then perhaps you should seriously reconsider _this_.” She gestured in a circular motion with one finger, clearly indicating Lirael and Nick both, before turning and stalking back up towards the palace, two guards hurrying to catch up with her.

Touchstone let out a long sigh. He did not look angry, but he was not exactly happy either.

“I…uh…I’m sorry,” Nick said. “I didn’t mean to make her that angry, I didn’t think…”

“She has been doing this job on her own for twenty years,” Touchstone said. He turned his face towards them, but his eyes were fixed on some spot in the distance. “The longest amount of time I have ever spent with my wife consecutively were the months surrounding the births of our children. You…get used to it, but it never gets easier. And it hurts Sabriel too.” His grey eyes found Lirael’s. “Being the Abhorsen trumps everything, your love, your life, your family…because none of that can be safe if the dead walk free.”

Nick ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Well, now I feel like a complete prick.”

“Don’t,” Touchstone said, then surprised them both by laughing softly. “You’re eighteen. She does understand that.” He squeezed Nick’s shoulder and got to his feet. “I still might consider apologizing later, once she’s calmed down.”

As Touchstone went off to where Ellimere and Sam were, Nick sighed and looked at Lirael. When he saw the look on her face he winced. “Oh, you’re upset too, aren’t you?”

“You called me your girlfriend,” Lirael said quietly. She honestly was not all that certain _what_ she was feeling at the moment.

Nick bit his lip, eyes moving as he tried to puzzle out the look on her face. “Aren’t you? I mean, I just…sort of assumed that’s what we were doing.”

“I sort of assumed…Clayr, they never marry, they don’t really date exclusively,” Lirael heard herself saying, ducking behind her hair and staring down at their still entwined fingers. “I never really thought I would. I…I would like to, I think. But Nick, what Sabriel and Touchstone said was true, being an Abhorsen will always come first.”

“I know.” Nick brushed her hair back and kissed her cheek. “Can we just see how it goes?”

“Yes, we can do that,” Lirael said, smiling a little. She rested her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder, not even caring that both Ellimere and Sam were now looking their way with thoroughly wicked grins on their faces.

***

_Up Next: As the Abhorsen said - Winter is coming._


	5. Chaos is a Ladder

When she reached for the border with Death, Lirael found it far too easy to cross. She felt all the more guilty about it knowing that the deaths of the royal guards were what made it so, people she had fought beside an hour ago, people she knew by name. People she would mourn later, after she was finished.

Lirael’s feet had barely hit the shallow water of the first precinct when her hand shot out and she grabbed the silvery form just ahead of her, fingers closing on the back of his collar and keeping him from falling into the water. A moment of doubt. This wasn’t right, and yet she couldn’t imagine doing anything else. (It’s not necromancy, she told herself, she didn’t have to use the bells or magic or…)

She fell back into life, pulling the spirit with her.

Touchstone’s grey eyes were still clouded with pain when they finally opened. “You…you _promised_ , Lirael-!” he rasped, sucking in a sharp breath as he tried to sit up further. The movement jostled the quarrel still buried in his side, making him wince again.

“No,” Lirael said, putting a hand on the king’s shoulder to keep him still. “I promised Sabriel wouldn’t follow you, not that I wouldn’t try to save you.”

“She’s going to be furious with you,” Touchstone whispered, tipping his head back against the tree again. “You aren’t…you’re not supposed to bring people back to life.”

“You aren’t people.” Lirael took his still icy hands in both of hers. Somewhere down the road she heard the sound of horses, and could only hope it was Sam returning with help. When Touchstone managed to glance at her again she added softly, “I do not think Sabriel will be too angry.”

***

_One Week Earlier…_

Lirael rubbed her eyes as she stepped out into the early morning sun in search of her niece. She caught a few amused glances as she started down the path from the palace, and could only imagine what a sight she made; the Abhorsen-in-Waiting tramping around in her boots and pajamas, hair still tousled from sleep and eyes bleary.

Her first destination was the stables, if Ellimere vanished off anywhere it was generally there, even so early in the day. And sure enough, when asked, the two stableboys unloading hay out front said they had seen the princess earlier and that she was most likely still inside. So in Lirael went, down the long rows of stalls, inhaling the earthy smells of the animals around her.

It wasn’t until Lirael reached the back of the long building that she heard what she thought was Ellimere’s voice, but it was too faint to be certain. Lirael paused, frowned, and when her curiosity got the better of her, went to peek through the partially open door to the tack room to her left.

What she saw made her press a hand to her mouth, cheeks flushing. There was Ellimere, sitting on the edge of one of the tables, her long legs wrapped around the waist of one of the stable boys. They were situated with his back to Lirael, so she could not see his face. She could see Ellimere’s face however, eyes closed and lips parted, could see the way her hands tangled in the young man’s short hair, the way his hips flexed as he thrust into the princess…

And when Lirael glanced back up, Ellimere had opened her eyes and judging by the look in them, had seen Lirael. Face burning, Lirael spun around and hurried back out of the stable as quickly as she could. She didn’t even pause before turning back onto the main path to the palace and was about halfway up it when she heard hurried footsteps behind her.

A moment later someone grabbed her arm. “Aunt Lirael, _please_ , just wait a moment…”

The uncharacteristic desperation in Ellimere’s voice, if anything, made Lirael look up, blinking at her in surprise.

“Please, please don’t say anything to my parents!” Ellimere begged, her fingers tightening on Lirael’s arm. “I know it’s not the same for the Clayr, but you have to understand what a scandal it would cause, the princess having _relations_ with a servant it just isn’t done! Father would be furious, of course, though I suppose it would make him a bit of a hypocrite because people didn’t really want him to marry Mother but my point is - ”

“Ellimere!” Lirael said, waving her hand to cut her niece’s tirade off. “I wasn’t going to say anything, calm down!”

For a moment it looked like Ellimere was close to tears, but just as quickly she regained her usual composure and gave a little smile. “Thank you,” she said quietly, linking her arm through Lirael’s.

“What’s his name?” Lirael asked, trying to sound conversational and not still thoroughly embarrassed as they continued on back to the palace.

“Rien,” Ellimere said. “I’ve known him since we were, oh, seven, I think. He _is_ one of my dearest friends, even if he is just a stable hand.”

Lirael shot her a sidelong look. “Do you love him?”

Ellimere blinked, looking a bit taken aback by the question. She looked down for a moment and shrugged, but said nothing.

***

They joined Sameth and Touchstone in the family solar a little while later. Sabriel and Nicholas were both in Ancelstierre for the week, Sabriel to finish up some sort of negotiations and Nick to visit his parents. As it was, Lirael felt a bit strange taking her sister’s usual place at the little breakfast table, but quiet mornings were a rare thing lately, so it was rather nice to just sit and talk on all sort of lighthearted subjects.

“Are you three still planning on leaving this afternoon?” Ellimere asked after a while.

Touchstone nodded. “It takes about three days riding to get up to the Nailway, and I would like to try and get there, meet with Tikaani, and get back before your mother returns home.”

Lirael listened with interest. Touchstone and Sameth were taking a few days to meet with a representative of the Northern clans. Tikaani, a chieftan of some sort from Lirael’s understanding, had also requested the presence of the Abhorsen, citing recent troubles with the Dead. As Sabriel wasn’t available, Lirael had agreed to go.

“Now, Ellimere, before I forget..” Touchstone began, but Ellimere rolled her eyes.

“I know, I know, listen to Jall, keep you updated…”

“Actually, we thought this time we might try something different,” Touchstone said with a slight smile. “Jall will still be around for council, of course, but your mother and I both think it’s about time you get used to ruling on your own.”

Ellimere said nothing, though her wide eyes and smile were enough to convey just how she felt about that development.

Sam, on the other hand, looked just as worried as his sister looked excited. “Dad, is everything alright?”

“Of course, Sam, why?”

“It’s just…” Sam glanced at his sister, then back at Touchstone. “You’ve been putting more responsibility on Ellimere lately, making sure she’s ready to actually rule. But that’ll only happen when you die! You’re not…?”

“Oh for Charter’s sake, Sameth!” Ellimere groaned. “You’re so morbid sometimes, no wonder they thought you were supposed to be Abhorsen-in-Waiting.” She cast a glance at Lirael. “No offense, but you know it’s true. Mother even sometimes even just _looks_ like she’s –“

“Elli!” Touchstone was trying hard not to chuckle. “That’s not a very nice thing to say about your mother.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Ellimere huffed and rolled her eyes. “I just meant she’s ridiculously pale, you know Shemblis always worries about her being anemic, not that I’d be surprised if she was…”

“Stop changing the subject!” Sam snapped, flicking a piece of egg Ellimere’s way. “We were talking about Dad.”

“Who is _not_ about to drop dead, I promise,” Touchstone said firmly. He reached over to pat his son’s arm. “There is no harm in making sure your sister is prepared to be queen. She’s twenty now, that’s almost how old I was when I was crowned.”

“But…”

“And besides,” Touchstone continued, “Ellimere becoming queen does not necessarily have to include my death. In fact your mother and I have discussed the possibility of abdicating the throne to her within the next two decades or so.”

Sam seemed at least temporarily mollified by that as he poked at his food. “Well, at least I’m coming with you this time and won’t have to deal with her tyranny.”

“Speaking of tyranny,” Ellimere said, refusing to rise to her brothers bait, “We have fifteen minutes to get ready for petty court, we really should get going.” She got to her feet and continued to glare pointedly at him.

Sam turned a pleading gaze to his father, but Touchstone just shook his head and made a shooing motion with both hands. Grumbling, Sam got to his feet and trailed after his sister out of the room, leaving Lirael and Touchstone alone at the table. A minute or so after the prince and princess had left, Lirael glanced over at her brother-in-law. Touchstone was staring with a slight frown at a spot on the table, tapping his finger against the side of his coffee cup.

“Touchstone?” Lirael said, tilting her head.

“Lirael, I need to ask you something.” Touchstone’s voice was oddly tight. When he looked up he held one hand out to her, resting it on the table between them. “A favor. And it may be horribly unfair to ask of you, but I’m not sure there is anyone else I could ask it of.”

She nodded and hesitantly took his hand, but Lirael’s stomach had clenched in worry. She took a deep breath before saying, “You are my brother, and my king. Whatever it is you need to ask of me…”

Touchstone gazed at her, rubbing his thumb over the back of her fingers for a moment. “When I die,” he began softly, “I need you to promise me something.”

Tears welled in Lirael’s eyes at that, as she realized Sameth’s worry might not be all that misplaced. She forced herself to continue looking at Touchstone, despite her strong desire to duck behind the protective fall of her hair.

“When I die,” Touchstone said again, his voice now barely more than a whisper, making it clear this was not something he wanted to talk about. “I need you to promise that you will not let Sabriel follow me. I know my wife, I know she would walk me to the Ninth Gate and that no matter what she promised, she would not return to Life. If it is not her time, please do not let her follow.”

“I…” Lirael tried to say, but her voice broke and she felt a tear roll down her cheek before she hastily brushed it away.

“This has worried me endlessly, Lirael, _please_ …”

Lirael took a deep breath, then managed a sad sort of smile. “You think I can tell Sabriel what to do?”

“If anyone can, it would be you,” Touchstone said with a strained laugh, giving Lirael’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“Then I promise,” Lirael said quietly.

Touchstone lifted her hand and kissed the back of her fingers. “Thank you.”

***

They left Belisaere in the early afternoon. For Lirael, who was used to slipping out of the city on foot with Sabriel in the middle of the night, or surreptitiously by paperwing, leaving amidst a full procession consisting of eight royal guards, Touchstone, Sameth and herself was a bit of an ordeal. They took the kings road out of the city, and when they got close to the gate the road was lined with people waving and cheering, or gaping at them in awe. Touchstone and Sam both took it all in stride, but Lirael felt suddenly very shy again.

“You do realize this is probably the first time most people have seen you in person,” Sam said, riding up beside her and grinning.

Lirael nodded and looked down. She had borrowed Sabriel’s horse, a magnificent black destrier named Hrimfaxi. He was large and muscular and seemed to like Lirael well enough, even if she wasn’t nearly as experienced a rider as her sister. She reached out and patted the side of Hrimfaxi’s neck, if anything to give herself something to focus on other than the stares of the people around her.

“They love your father so much,” she said after a moment to Sam.

“Yeah.” Sam grinned a bit embarrassedly. “He’s…he really is a good king. I don’t envy Ellimere, having to follow up him and Mother. Not that I don’t think she’ll be a great queen, because I know she will, despite what I say.”

Lirael tried to smile at Sam, but his words, combined with her earlier promise to Touchstone, left an uncomfortably anxious feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She realized she would be following up Sabriel as well…Sam must have guessed what she was thinking because he cleared his throat and gave her a stern look.

“You do know you’re already on par with Mother, don’t you?” he said. “She defeated Kerrigor. You defeated the Destroyer.”

“She also helped rebuild the entire Old Kingdom when she was my age,” Lirael pointed out, barely noticing as they passed under the main gate of the city.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “And you’re the first Remembrancer in Charter knows how long. You know what else Mother’s said? That she thinks you’re going to be considerably more powerful than her, you might already be.”

Lirael stared at him. “Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“Mum said it, not me.” Sam shrugged, then sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I don’t like thinking about what it’ll be like without them any more than you do.”

“I’m not ready for that yet,” Lirael said quietly, tightening her grip on Hrimfaxi’s reigns.

The countryside outside the city was beautiful in the pale golden sunlight. There wasn’t much traffic on the road, and what few carts and pedestrians there were quickly got out of the way to let the king, prince and Abhorsen-in-Waiting pass by.

“I guess Elli was right,” Sam said quietly a minute later. “We are rather morbid, aren’t we?”

Lirael wrinkled her nose. “The other Clayr always thought so when I was little.”

“Oh well.” Sam shrugged, then shot her another grin. “At least you’re among like-minded people now.”

***

They rode west for some time, and then turned north at the junction with the Nailway. On one clear afternoon Lirael looked to their right and could see in the distance the tall form of the Clayr’s glacier peeking beyond a forest of evergreen trees. A thick lump suddenly formed in her throat, but Lirael said nothing.

The temperatures continued to decrease, forcing them to change from the clothes they’d worn out of Belisaere and into fur lined cloaks. Later rains soon turned to snowfall that covered the land around them, a white blanket pierced here and there by sharp rocky outcroppings. They began to pass sparse trade outposts, and a small fishing village, and one afternoon a girl in the colorful clothing of the Rasseli shepherd people drove a huge flock of sheep across the road, then stopped to gape at them open mouthed. When Touchstone waved to her she giggled and waved back, before ushering her wooly charges onward.

And then not long after that, they rounded an outcropping of rocks and came upon what looked like a large camp at the edge of a lake, but on closer examination Lirael saw that the large circular tents seemed to be at least semi-permanent structures of hides and fabric stretched over intricate wooden frames.  They took the horses over to a paddock filled with large antlered creatures that appeared to be some large form of reindeer, and by the time they dismounted, a group of the clan members were coming to meet them.

At the front of the group was a tall, broad shouldered woman. She looked to be a little older than Touchstone, and had a lined, weather worn brown face and black hair. There was something entirely intimidating about her, possibly to do with the two wolfhounds at her side. But as she drew closer, Lirael could see that the dogs’ tails were wagging and the woman was smiling.

“Tikaani!” Touchstone said, embracing the woman and kissing her cheek. “You are looking very well indeed.”

Tikaani laughed and gave his shoulder a light slap. “Every year the winter cracks me like dry ground, and I feel it more and more. You, cousin, safe in your palace, are another story entirely.”

“Age is catching up to me as well,” he said, chuckling. Then Touchstone turned, motioning Lirael and Sameth forward. “Tikaani, you remember my son, Sameth…”

“I remember a little boy clinging to his mother’s sleeve,” Tikaani said with a wink. “You have grown much, my prince. It is good to see you.”

Sameth bowed deeply. “And you, my lady.”

“And this is Lirael,” Touchstone said, putting a hand lightly on her shoulder. “My wife’s sister, and the Abhorsen-in-Waiting.”

A thoughtful look came over Tikaani’s face then, and she stepped forward, reaching up to cup Lirael’s face in her hands. “You have Clayr blood in you,” she said. “And I have heard the name Lirael before, though…some time ago, and I cannot remember…” Abruptly Tikaani lowered her hands and smiled. “You are most welcome here.”

“Thank you,” Lirael heard herself say. She wanted to ask _how_ Tikaani could tell she had Clayr blood, but before she could Touchstone spoke.

“You said there was something you needed the Abhorsen for?”

Tikaani nodded, waving for them to follow her back to the largest of the tents. “Yes. A man built a house just on the other side of this lake not too long ago, and something killed him. We believe it is a _Tuurngaq_.”

“I…I don’t know what that is,” Lirael said.

“A Free Magic being,” Tikaani explained. “I’m not sure what your name for this specific one is, if you even have one. All I know is that like the Dead, they prefer the cover of darkness.” 

“I will be happy to look into it,” Lirael said with a nod.

***

They were introduced to the other leaders of this particular clan, including Tikaani’s son, and his betrothed, a woman from the Old Kingdom named Clara. Clara, as it turned out, was a fairly decent Charter Mage herself, and so she was among the small group that accompanied Lirael out that evening in search of the Free Magic creature Tikaani called a _tuurngaq_. With them went two of Tikaani’s warriors, a fierce looking pair of twins. Sameth remained behind with Touchstone to talk with Tikaani and her advisors.

It was one of those piercingly cold, clear nights that Lirael knew from her life at the glacier. Stars swept over the sky, and she wished she could focus on the frigid beauty of the landscape around them rather than the task at hand. Clara led the way around the edge of the frozen lake. She was, if possible, even quieter than Lirael, but she had a sleepy smile that seemed permanently affixed to her face.

Soon they came upon a stand of trees, and at its edge, the dark silhouette of a small house. A breeze picked up then, and even from such a distance, Lirael could smell the tang of Free Magic. Shivering, Lirael turned to Clara. “Do you know anything about _tuurngaqs_?”

“They are Free Magic beings without solid form,” Clara said quietly. “I’ve…heard stories, but never encountered one. Though I would imagine they are bound in the same way as a Stilken, so I brought this…” From somewhere within the layers of furs she wore, Clara produced a crystal bottle, which she handed to Lirael. At Lirael’s questioning look she smiled and said, “I am one of the few Charter Mages up here, and we cannot always ask the Abhorsen to step in so…I have learned quite a deal.”

Lirael touched the hilt of her sword as they drew up to the front of the small house. The overbearing presence of Free Magic was only growing stronger, and though there was no wind, and nothing alive, Lirael heard a sound like a single long, drawn out exhale of breath. Tikaani’s twins had their broad-bladed swords in hand and were spreading out to flank Lirael and Clara.

“Well…” Lirael said, then took a deep breath. She lifted her hand and a single bright Charter light soared above her head, throwing the area around them into stark relief. The door of the house stood open, swinging a little in an almost nonexistent wind.

For a split second before the light went out, Lirael thought she saw something, or someone, standing in the doorway of the house. Then everything went dark; the Charter mark, the stars, the moon, the whole world plunged into darkness.

Instinctively Lirael reached for the Charter to draw out another light just as she drew her sword, but the light only flickered at her fingertips, not even bright enough to show her companions, though she could hear them moving around her. The twins were shouting in their own language, frightened orders and questions that suddenly dissolved into panicked sobs from one of them and silence from the other.

“Clara?!” Lirael shouted, turning around. Something passed her, something that smelled of blood and Free Magic.

Somehow a light flared into existence, and Lirael could see Clara holding a torch above her head, her eyes wide and frightened. Everything took on a silvery, desaturated look in the light of the flickering flames.

Clara lifted one hand, pointing, just as a shadow fell over Lirael.

Lirael spun, sword arm extending, the blade driving into something that was there and yet was not. In her panic she reached for the marks she had used to bind the Stilken so long ago. A bit stupidly, perhaps, she let go of her sword to reach for the crystal bottle, uncap it, and hold it up.

For a split second she thought she had failed, as the acrid smell overwhelmed her. Then she felt something cold filling the bottle in her hand, and a second later heard her sword fall to the ice-crusted snow. The instant she heard the sound, Lirael jammed the cork on the bottle, sealing it with another mark. As she did so, her Charter light flared back into life above her.

“I’ve got it, I think…” Lirael panted, turning. She saw Clara standing nearby, the torch lying at her feet, flames doused by the snow. Lirael frowned. “Where are…”

Clara just shook her head and pointed. Following her gesture, Lirael saw what looked like two dark smears on the white snow a hundred yards away. Her stomach churned, and she looked down at the bottle in her hand, suddenly wishing the lake wasn’t frozen over so that she could simply hurl it, and the creature inside, into the icy water.

“Here,” Clara whispered, reaching out to take the bottle. “I will carry it. Are you alright?”

Lirael nodded, retrieving her sword before she lifted one hand to her forehead. Her head ached and spun slightly, and she still felt uncomfortably nauseated. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Clara asked, taking Lirael’s elbow as they started back around the lake. She held up the bottle with her other hand, so they could both see that it was filled with what looked like black smoke, flickering occasionally with silver sparks. “I feel as though that was too easy.”

“My head says differently,” Lirael winced again and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I…I must have put more force into that binding than I thought.”

Clara shot her a worried look, but said nothing as she tightened her grip on Lirael’s arm.

***

Back at the camp, Lirael spoke only briefly with Touchstone and Tikaani to tell them what had happened, or at least whatever she could make of it. Sameth kept shooting her concerned glances, but Lirael tried to wave them off by saying that the binding had simply exhausted her. She barley remembered getting back to their tent and kicking off her boots before she fell into a deep, troubled sleep.

She awoke suddenly, hours later. By the faint light of the brazier at the very center of the tent she could see both Sam and Touchstone asleep in their bedrolls. Cautiously Lirael sat up, disheartened to discover that her head still throbbed slightly, a dull pain radiating out from the middle of her forehead. She also felt stiff, and far too hot in the suddenly cloying air of the tent. With some effort, Lirael sat up and pulled her boots and coat on again before slipping carefully outside.

It must have been very late indeed. Except for the guards huddled around a fire at the middle of camp, everyone else was asleep. As she started walking between the tents, Lirael caught the faint snuffling of the reindeer and horses in their pen, but other than that everything was silent.

She was surprised then, a moment later, to round a corner and discover that she wasn’t the only one taking a late walk. Clara too was awake, standing just outside the animal pen. She held a gloved hand out to Hrimfaxi, but the large black horse sniffed her hand before shying back.

“He’s a bit particular about who he likes,” Lirael said, walking over.

Clara jumped, then smiled. “Is he yours?”

“Sabriel’s,” Lirael said, then corrected herself, “The Abhorsen’s.”

“Oh.” Clara nodded, drawing back from the fence. She wrapped her arms around herself. “She is a remarkable woman. Your sister, isn’t she?”

“Half-sister,” Lirael said, though that distinction seemed to be less and less important each day.

“I was wondering…” Clara began, a wistful tone to her voice. Then she looked embarrassed and turned away, shaking her head. “No, never mind, it’s silly.”

“What is it?” Lirael asked curiously.

Clara shrugged, and must have conjured a small Charter light in her hands, for as she half turned back her face seemed lit from underneath. “Just…if you might tell the Abhorsen something for me.”

Lirael cocked her head at the odd request, but nodded and smiled politely.

A split second later she realized something wasn’t right. The light flickering over Clara’s face was not the steady warm glow of a Charter spell, but a harsh, silvery flame. And in the shivering illumination, the woman’s face seemed to change, becoming transparent, revealing a much less pleasant visage beneath: all pale, cracked skin and when she smiled it was too wide too much –

“Tell that bitch she will regret not walking me to the Ninth Gate,” she said in a voice that suddenly lost all of its softness. A wind picked up from behind her, carrying with it the unmistakable smell of Free Magic.

Letting out a startled gasp, Lirael took a step backwards, but the other woman surged forwards and grabbed Lirael’s wrists in her hands, her touch burning.

“Do you not recognize me, Lirael Goldenhand?” she hissed, her breath reeking of carrion. “Though I did wear a mask when last we met. Still, you’ve been disappointingly easy to fool.”

“If you harm me, Sabriel _will_ kill you,” Lirael said. She tried to sound confident, but Chlorr’s hands were tightening painfully on her wrists, and her voice caught in her throat.

“Oh do not worry, little mouse,” Chlorr breathed. “You will walk away tonight. I took something precious from your sister once, and I plan on doing it again, and again, and _again_ until she has nothing left. And you, my dear, I have a plan for. But now it is time to sleep…”

She released one of Lirael’s wrists, and pressed her thumb to Lirael’s Charter mark. Pain and then darkness shrouded Lirael’s mind and she had the vague sensation of falling to her knees, then backwards, her head hitting the hard rime of ice atop the snow as she either passed out or simply fell into a nightmarish sleep.

***

Lirael awoke with a start. She felt like she was just coming out of a terrible fever, a bit like that time so long ago when, following the first encounter with the Stilken, she had awoken in the Clayr’s infirmary. This time there was no blond haired, blue eyed cousin peering down at her, just a worried and tired looking Sam. And she was not in a bright infirmary, but the dimly lit interior of their tent in Tikaani’s camp. Though judging from the light falling through the gap in the door, it was mid-morning at least.

“Lirael!” Sam exclaimed, straightening. “You’re awake!”

She struggled to sit up. “What…”

“One of the men on watch found you lying out in the snow!” Sam said, his eyes widening. “They brought you back in here…You were basically catatonic. Dad worked a healing spell on you, though, and said we should just let you sleep the rest of the night. He’s outside getting everyone ready to start back.”

Lirael nodded, but said nothing. She tried to remember what had happened that night, but for a good minute her recollection was too fuzzy. When it did come back to her she instantly held up her hands, expecting to find her wrists burned from where Chlorr had gripped her, but her skin was unblemished.

Sam frowned. “Lirael, what happened last night? Lirael!” his last exclamation came when she abruptly got to her feet, grabbing for her boots.

“I need to find you father, Sam!” Lirael said, pulling her boots and coat on. “It’s important! And someone needs to find Clara _immediately_ we’re all in danger…”

“Clara?” Sam frowned. “Lirael, her and Tikaani’s son left for his camp right after you two got done dealing with that Free Magic thing, she’s miles away, what’s wrong?”

Lirael turned wide eyes on him. “She’s _Chlorr_ , she was in disguise but last night I couldn’t sleep so I got up and I ran into her outside the horse pen and…and she revealed herself and said something about wanting to hurt your mother by taking things she cared about away from her and - ” She stopped because Sam had fixed her with a disbelieving stare. “I’m serious, Sam!”

“You really think no one would notice if Chlorr just waltzed in here?” Sam said. “Even disguised…”

“She’s ancient, she could have done it!” She caught the continued look Sam was still giving her and frowned. “What?”

He shrugged. “It’s just, Dad told me that Mother told him you used to have problems with sleepwalking, are you sure…”

“Am I sure what?” Lirael asked, feeling suddenly angry. Part of her irritation must have come from the knowledge that one of her embarrassing habits had been the subject of talk among her family, and the rest from the thought that Sam didn’t seem to believe her. “That it wasn’t a dream?!”

“I mean there wasn’t any hint of Free Magic or anything…Lirael I really think you should lie down!”

“Get out of my way!”

They were too busy glaring at each other to notice when Touchstone entered the tent, not until he moved to stand between them. “What is going on?!”

“Chlorr,” Lirael said, shooting Sam a glare. “What happened to me last night, it was Chlorr. That’s who Clara was, we need to find her.”

“I tried to tell her that wasn’t possible!”

“She’s going after Sabriel! She said that she took something from  her once and that she’ll keep doing it over and over…”

“Took something? She never took  - ”

Touchstone held up his hand to silence them both. “Sameth,” he said slowly. “Go tell Breslin that we will need to take the alternate route back to Belisaere. Then help them finish getting reaedy.”

Now Sam’s face paled, and he looked between his father and Lirael. “You really do think it’s Chlorr don’t you.”

“Sameth, please.” Touchstone continued to fix his son with the same steady gaze. He gave a slight nod towards the door. “I need to speak with your aunt.”

Still looking worried, Sameth nodded, cast them one last look and headed back out of the tent. Touchstone moved to sit on one of the stools by the brazier and motioned for Lirael to join him.

“Sam thinks I dreamed it,” Lirael said quietly.

“I might have myself but you mentioned her taking something from Sabriel,” Touchstone said. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Sabriel fought Chlorr six…nearly seven years ago now, during the battle of Roble’s Town. Ellimere was fourteen at the time and Sameth was twelve, they were both still at school in Ancelstierre. We told them about the fight, of course, and that Sabriel was injured but…”

Lirael frowned at his hesitation. “’But’? Did something else happen?”

Clearly recalling something he’d rather not, Touchstone let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his hand over his face. “We never told them that their mother was nearly three months pregnant at the time.”

Sickening dread settled in the pit of Lirael’s stomach and she let out a breath. “Oh…no…”

“Chlorr pulled her deep into Death and…obviously…” Touchstone’s voice caught, “obviously Sabriel lost the baby. The baby even the Clayr thought would be the Abhorsen-in-Waiting. And Sabriel hasn’t stopped blaming herself for it.”

“No one else could have bound Chlorr and made her walk,” Lirael said quietly. “If Sabriel hadn’t done that, Chlorr would have hurt more people.”

Touchstone nodded. “I know. She knows. But no matter how necessary, it is difficult to _not_ always put your family first. My point is, that was what Chlorr took from her. No one else knew that.”

Lirael wrapped her arms around herself, thinking back to that day she first saw Sabriel and Touchstone at the Glacier. They had been on their way to Roble’s Town then. Lirael thought a bit numbly how the Sabriel she had seen that day had been anticipating a future that included a third child, and that in the following days when she, Lirael, had been starting her wonderful new future in the library, her sister’s anticipated future had been snatched away from her.

Part of her mind knew that the news should have brought tears to her eyes, but instead all Lirael felt was an overwhelming, burning anger.

***

Tikaani was there to see them off. As the others prepared the supplies and checked the horses, she walked over to Lirael and lightly touched her arm. “I remembered finally where I heard your name before,” she said softly.

Lirael turned from checking Hrimfaxi’s saddle. “Oh?”

“Some fourteen years ago,” Tikaani recalled, “I was staying with a different clan, farther into the northern wastes. They were more…wild, more brutal. Except for one woman with them. It’s not uncommon for us to have other peoples as part of our families, but this woman…she had golden hair and blue eyes and always looked so sad. And I do not remember her name, but for some reason I do remember when I spoke with her one night she told me how she had left a young daughter behind, a little girl named Lirael.”

Lirael stood frozen, knuckles white as she clutched at a strap of the saddle. She did not want to look at Tikaani, but somehow she forced herself to. “You…” she whispered. “You met my mother…Do you know what happened to her?” And when Tikaani did not immediately reply, Lirael let out a frustrated sound. “What happened to her?!”

“That clan was completely decimated,” Tikaani said, her dark eyes fixed on Lirael’s. “Two, perhaps three years after I left to join this one. They were in a battle with a much larger, much more war-like clan. That is all I know.”

She lay her hand on Lirael’s shoulder, but Lirael said nothing. It wasn’t until Tikaani moved off that Lirael blinked, a tear rolling down the side of her nose to drip off her chin into the packed snow at her feet. Furiously she scrubbed her hand over her eyes and looked up at Hrimfaxi, who had turned his head to snuffle at her hair with his velvety nose.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Lirael told the horse, trying to push his head away. Hrimfaxi snorted in a disbelieving sounding way and Lirael reached up to scratch his forehead. “You act just like Sabriel sometimes,” she added under her breath before finally scrambling up onto his back and turning him to join Sam and Touchstone.

***

They made faster time on the return journey. Perhaps it was the alternate route they took, perhaps it was their unspoken urgency to be back within the protective, familiar walls of Belisaere. Touchstone did not mention Chlorr again, though from the looks he was exchanging with Breslin – the steely eyed captain of the kingsguard – he had told her that some danger had made itself present.

By the third day out of Tikaani’s camp everyone had begun to relax a little. It was morning, a bright, sharp clear winter morning, and their path took them through a deserted pine forest. As she had been for most of the journey, Lirael was lost in her own thoughts. It took her some time, in fact, to realize what was slightly off about their surroundings.

She realized it just as Breslin and the other forward guard came to a stop, and Touchstone motioned for the others to halt as well. Pulling Hrimfaxi up beside Sam, Lirael leaned over towards her nephew and murmured, “The birds’ve all stopped singing.”

Breslin turned and looked back over her shoulder. “Sire, I think something’s - ”

Without warning, Touchstone let out a choked cry of pain, doubling over and nearly falling from his saddle. From where she and Sam were some yards behind him, Lirael could just see the crossbow bolt that had pierced right through his armor, burying itself in the king’s side.

The guards exploded into action at the same time that figures appeared rushing from the trees around them. Living people, not the Dead, armed to the teeth and clearly more than prepared for this ambush.

Lirael’s next surprise came from the almost inhuman roar Sameth let out, a shout of utter and complete fury. Before she even realized he had left her side, the prince had ridden down two of their attackers and was rounding on a third. Breslin had quickly been cornered off from the others, and when she met Lirael’s eye she gestured frantically towards Touchstone, and then away from the battle.

Panic coursing through her Lirael spurred Hrimfaxi right into the middle of the milieu. Touchstone was still slumped forward in his saddle, but when Lirael reached out to grab the reigns, he managed to look up at her and nod gratefully.

She kept to his right side so that she could hold the reigns of his horse with her left hand and hers with her right as she tried to get him out of the battle. Unfortunately two of their attackers noticed and rounded on them. Without even thinking Lirael drew her sword and thrust downward. Being above meant that the tip went in through the man’s throat, behind his armor and down into his chest.

There came a long, paralyzing moment where he looked up at her as his dark eyes faded, then he gave a weak cough, blood bubbling up over his lips and running down his chin. He fell slowly backwards, sliding off her blade. As he hit the snow, Lirael felt the man’s spirit slip into Death.

Touchstone had fallen from his horse. Lirael got down from Hrimfaxi, resheathed her sword and hurried over to him.

“Touchstone!” she begged, trying to heave him to his feet. “I cannot carry you, please just try to walk a little…”

“I’m…” The king gritted his teeth, took in a deep breath, then managed to get an arm around her shoulders. He leaned heavily on her, but he did make it to his feet.

By the time they made it over the low mound that ran alongside the road, the sounds of the battle had fallen silent. Lirael tied both horses to a tree and with some difficulty managed to prop Touchstone up against it. She was surprised when he opened his eyes and reached for her hand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” Lirael said, shaking her head. “You’re going to be alright, you….” She squeezed his hand and felt bile rising in the back of her throat. “I killed someone,” shewhispered.

“I know, that’s…” Touchstone winced and squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s what I meant. I didn’t…oh _Charter_ , something’s w-wrong…”

Lirael peered at him. “You’ve been shot, of course there - ”

“No, I think the bolt was poisoned.”

Cold panic began to pulse through her again. For a moment all Lirael could do was stare at Touchstone, having no idea what to do or how to help him. They were so far from anywhere, and the realization that they might be too far to get help was slowly settling in her mind.

She sprang up and looked around before screaming, “SAMETH?! BRESLIN?! SOMEONE HELP!”

And when someone did come crashing through the trees, Lirael jumped and let out a frightened shout before realizing it was Sam, a wild look fading from his eyes and blood streaking his face. When he saw Lirael, and saw Touchstone however, that expression faded and he let out a sob as he fell to his knees. “Dad?!”

“Sam…” Summoning what appeared to be a great deal of strength, Touchstone reached over and grabbed Sameth’s sleeve. “Ride back along the road to the fork…take the…the one we did not come from. There is a village there, a very skilled healer.”

“Dad I don’t want to leave you!” Sameth choked out, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Take my horse,” Touchstone said, trying to give his son a stern look. “ _Go_.”

Finally Sam got on the horse and rode off. Lirael moved to kneel beside Touchstone again, taking his hand in both of hers. She could feel his spirit trickling away like water through a sieve as his breathing grew more labored.

“Is there anything I can do?” she whispered.

Touchstone shook his head. “No.”

Lirael knew she should be crying, but instead all she felt was anger. Anger at her helplessness, at the stupidity of this all, of Touchstone’s guards not being prepared enough, at Chlorr who was undoubtedly behind this, at Sabriel for not being here, at herself for not doing a better job of protecting her family.

When she looked up again Touchstone was looking at her, but he had an odd, weary and almost feverish look in his eyes. His gaze was on her face, but he clearly was seeing something else as he lifted his hand to brush the back of his fingers against her cheek. “Sabriel,” he whispered, “Please, forgive me…I’m so sorry…”

“Fight it!” she said. “If you’re really sorry you’ll fight it and live!”

There was no reply, his eyes had closed, head lolling forward.

“Touchstone!” Lirael shouted, shaking his shoulder. The frustrated anger had returned in full force, and Lirael did the only thing she could think of doing.

When she reached for the border with Death, she found it far too easy to cross.

***

_Up Next: All sisters get in fights. All families have their problems. Some just involve a little more necromancy than others._


End file.
